


Throwing Pebbles

by khh1961



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And Eponine too!!!, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:42:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khh1961/pseuds/khh1961
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young love is complicated when a rich, prominent father vows to do whatever it takes to keep a poor art student away from his only son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Were Both Young When I First Saw You

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this story from the Taylor Swift song 'Love Story'. I hope you like it..

**Chapter 1- We Were Both Young When I First Saw You**

 

The heat of the early summer day had lingered on well into the evening as the young dark haired man performed his duties at a very fancy party hosted by some ridiculously rich people at their ridiculously ostentatious home. They were celebrating their only son’s ‘graduation’ to 6th Form and couldn't resist the opportunity to brag to all their society friends about the many awards, honors, and other academic achievements their golden boy had racked up along the way. These parents were clearly ‘someone’ and it seemed that everyone they’d invited to this fete was ‘someone’ too. They also seemed quite convinced that their superior offspring was destined to be ‘someone’ too someday, probably sooner than later, especially if the father had anything to say about it. It wasn't at all clear how the young ‘someone’ in question actually felt about any of this.

The boy who’d been assigned the inglorious task of keeping the trash bins empty, the dirty dishes out of sight and the water pitchers on the tables full at all times looked exhausted. His untidy dark curls were plastered to his head, a glean of sweat shimmering on his brow. He wore dark pants and a white, short sleeved button up shirt that looked just a tad too small for his well-muscled arms. The work uniform included an embarrassingly hideous apron that bore the name of the catering company he sometimes worked for, and a small white name tag that read simply ‘R’.  He had seen the young guest of honor earlier in the evening, smiling and shaking hands as he worked his way through the throng of elegantly dressed family members and friends. There were several boys, all about 17 or so, all in suits and ties, and a few girls in long formal dresses. The boy seemed rather bored by the whole charade, R thought to himself as he watched him for a moment or two, stopping here and there to accept a clap on the back from one or another of his father’s society friends. R noticed how quickly he changed, how relaxed he became standing off in a corner with a few of the other boys his age. His smile seemed easier then, R thought, more natural, more genuine. He couldn't help but notice how completely that smile seemed to light the blonde boy’s face, as if the light had suddenly come to the surface from somewhere deep inside him.

“Back to work with you now!” barked Mr. Thernadier suddenly. “I’m not paying you to stand about and gawk!”  

Thernadier was R’s boss and owner of the catering company, a taskmaster and petty tyrant. His beautiful daughter, Eponine, a dark haired girl just a couple of years younger than R worked for him there too. She was one of R’s only female friends and the closest thing to a sister he’d ever had. She was working here tonight too, slaving away in the miserable heat and quietly cussing her dear old dad.

“Yes sir”, R replied quietly, lowering his head and hoping he hadn't been spotted ‘gawking’ by the blonde boy or any of his well-heeled friends.

But he probably needn't have worried. It was after all a simple fact: people like ‘that’ never took notice of people like him. He might as well have been part of the furniture- inconspicuous, insignificant, invisible. He told himself again, probably for the hundredth time that night, that this was only temporary, a means to an end, just a way to keep a roof over his head and food in the pantry while he pursued his real, true passion.

R was strong enough in himself, though still only in his teens, that he understood this sort of menial labor paid the bills but did not define him as a person. He knew who he was- an artist, a painter, and a gifted one at that. He took private Art lessons whenever he could afford them and attended the Fine Arts program at the university on a scholarship. He loved the classes in Art History, figure drawing, sculpture and most of all, painting. That is, of course, when he remembered to go. He was fortunate that his two roommates and fellow uni students, Bahorel and Feuilly, kept pretty close tabs on him and didn't let him blow off his classes for too long, which was usually only a problem when he was drinking. R was a drunk, a curse that seemed to befall many truly gifted and talented people for some strange reason. He had started drinking early and often around age 13 or 14, following in the unsteady footsteps of his father. His old man was a violent drunk who took perverse pleasure in using his quiet, sensitive, dark haired boy as a punching bag. R found out quickly that the alcohol dulled the pain from his old man’s frequent beatings but only the physical pain, not the much deeper emotional pain. He felt ashamed and embarrassed, like a coward for not fighting back. He was afraid his school mates would find out somehow and that he would be shunned. He took great pains to hide the ugly bruises that covered his back and his arms where he’d put them up to keep from being hit in the face. He still ended up with the occasional black eye, split lip or bloody nose. He left home for good at 16, staying with friends and working odd jobs, taking classes when he could. Now he’d made it all the way to university, an achievement of which he was truly and rightfully proud. He felt as though being there put him on a level playing field for the first time in his life, that now he too was ‘someone’. This is what kept him going, smiling to himself as he worked emptying the garbage bins of the rich.

The pale skinned, blonde haired boy who was the center of attention at this gathering had been told all his young life that he was ‘someone’; someone special, someone important, someone whose existence mattered, someone simply because of his surname and who his parents were. He was headed for great things his father always told him, destined for a life of power, privilege and prestige. But the very notion made the young boy feel soul-sick and very sad. He had a vision of his future too, his own vision, one he knew his father would never accept or understand. He had a passion for justice in the world, a fire in his heart for the fair and equal treatment of all people, especially the poor and disenfranchised. He believed that government and society both had abandoned the needy and disadvantaged. He felt that a social system which allowed such gross disparity and imbalance was one that was terribly broken and in serious need of reform. He knew that this was **_his_** true calling, his only real destiny. His name was Enjolras and now he was stood off in a corner of the large patio deck, away from the cacophony of voices each trying to out-do the others in volume. His three closest friends stood around him, smiling and laughing quietly as Enjolras rolled his eyes at all the pretentious nonsense going on around them.

They’d all been the best of friends since the start of Year R. Combeferre was tall with sandy hair and soft brown eyes, a bookish boy with glasses that never seemed to stay where they belonged. He was quietly brilliant, calm-natured with a deeply philosophical mind. He was the only one of Enjolras’ friends who could rein the blonde boy in when his fiery passion threatened to burn out of control. Combeferre also seemed to act as a kind of translator or guide for Enjolras whose sheer brilliance and occasional attacks of tunnel vision sometimes made him quite oblivious to things like the needs and emotions of others.

Marius was ginger haired with hazel eyes and impossible freckles that seemed to multiply whenever he blushed which was frequently, especially in the presence of pretty girls. He was also quite intelligent and shared Enjolras’ vision of a more egalitarian society and a more socially just future. Marius wrote powerfully moving speeches and excelled at debate, but he lacked Enjolras’ passion, fire, or his ability to incite a crowd and rally them to his cause. Yet they understood each other innately, and shared a bond closer than that of many brothers.

Courfeyrac was the wild card of the group- funny, friendly, flirty and fierce. He was brown haired and brown eyed, broad shouldered but not quite as tall as Enjolras who stood nearly 6 feet tall at age 17. Courfeyrac got good marks in school, just as good as the others really, but he was quite cheeky and the class clown. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in the headmaster’s office where he practically had his own designated chair. Courfeyrac brought a sense of balance to this group of idealistic and spirited young men. He did his very best to keep them from taking themselves too seriously _all_ the time, with varying degrees of success.

It was Courf, as he was known to his mates, who first noticed the dark curly haired boy hard at work nearby. He also noticed that the boy seemed to be watching them surreptitiously, looking away quickly if any of them so much as glanced in his direction. When the boy passed close to where their group was standing with yet another bag full of opulent rubbish, Courfeyrac saw the initial ‘R’ on his name tag and couldn't resist calling out to him.

“Oi! What kind of name is ‘R’ anyway?!” he shouted, winking at his friends and waiting to see if the boy would take the bait.

“Well guvnor”, R replied in his best Cockney accent, scratching at his head thoughtfully, “Seems me folks were so poor by the time I came along, they couldn't afford a full name for me. All I got was a letter.” 

Enjolras laughed heartily and punched Courf playfully in the shoulder, saying “Looks like you've met your match, mate!”

Courf was deflated, genuinely disappointed that his attempt at a good laugh had backfired so badly. He had just been bested by the guy taking out the trash.

R carried on with his work, silently congratulating himself for putting that posh toff off his game, if only for a moment. He’d been dealing with prats like that for so long they barely even registered on his radar anymore. But oh, the way that blonde haired boy had laughed! R thought he’d never heard a sound quite as lovely as that. He wondered for the briefest second what he might do to get the boy to laugh like that again.

After a moment though he frowned and muttered to himself, “Back to work with you now, lad. You know no good ever comes of messing with that lot.”

Then he tossed the bag of trash into the dumpster and quietly returned to his duties.


	2. See You Make Your Way Through The Crowd And Say Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again, but on more even ground this time....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably kind of a slow build cuz I'm writing it as I go (sometimes they write themselves quickly, sometimes they just like to take their time!) I promise to try and make it worth the wait for you... (Comments help with motivation though, just sayin'!)

 

 Chapter 2

 He’d known about this exhibit for a while, was initially thrilled at the idea of having his art work displayed in public for the first time. But now it was actually happening and he felt certain he might just implode from the anxiety of it all. Looking around, his fellow art students all seemed calm enough though he couldn’t imagine how or why. This was a big deal, a **_huge_** deal actually and R wasn’t sure he was ready for it after all. Even deciding what to wear ended up requiring a drink… or two. He’d settled on a long sleeve button-up shirt, pleated trousers and a pair of Oxfords- all black- accented only by the narrow, absinthe green tie he had knotted and re-knotted at least a dozen times. R had tried combing his hopelessly messy inky curls, hoping to tame them if only for a few hours. As usual though, they were determined to do their own thing so he’d given up and walked away from his wardrobe mirror in a huff. “Bloody great!” he’d cursed under his breath as he’d left his place headed to the university gallery just a few blocks away.

Now all that was left to do was wait. The crowd had already begun to gather and the gallery doors would be open to them in just a few minutes. Each student artist would be stationed near their own work so they could answer questions and hand out the brochures each had designed as a means of introducing themselves and their work to the art-going public. R’s brochure featured thumbnails of some of his personal favorite paintings and sketches as well as some rather superficial biographical data. On the inside right flap was a larger image of a print that featured a wine bottle and glass, but only half of each and both in shadow. It was signed in the lower right corner with his trademark black, uppercase cursive letter ‘R’.  He’d imagined one day, should he ever have need of a business card, this would be the design he’d put on it. It said a lot about him, he thought, but without revealing much of anything, enigmatic art by an equally enigmatic artist.

Visitors to the gallery were strolling by now at a slow, steady pace. The crowd was a mix of university students, proud parents and other family members of the artists, and some of those tony types you’d typically expect to find at a gallery exhibit on opening night. R had relaxed a bit now, smiling and chatting amiably with people who’d stopped to admire his work. Here and there he accepted a handshake or friendly hug from someone he knew, gratified that people had taken the time out to come and see his art on display. Suddenly he spotted some vaguely familiar faces in the crowd, slowly approaching his exhibit area. His heart did a strange little corkscrew leap when he recognized the blonde haired boy from that fancy party he’d worked a couple of months ago. But it quickly fell flat when he saw his loud-mouthed, wiseacre friend trailing just behind him.

‘Maybe they won’t recognize me,’ he thought. ‘They’re not likely to be looking for the trash guy at an art exhibit’.

But almost as soon as the thought had finished forming in his head, he heard a voice call out to him.

 “Oi! R! Aren’t you the bloke that was busy hauling the rubbish from my mate here’s party?”

“Indeed I am, guvnor”, R replied smoothly. “And you’re the loud-mouthed arsehole who was busy making fun of a working man as I recall.”

And there it was again. That laugh, the one R had been unable to get out of his head ever since the night of the party.

“Oh, he got you again but good, eh Courf!?” Enjolras said, still laughing.

“Just shut it, will you Enjolras?!” replied Courf dejectedly, staring at the floor.

Enjolras. So that was his name!

And before he could stop himself, R held out his hand to the blonde boy and said “Pleasure to see you again, Enjolras. The name’s Grantaire but everyone just calls me R.”

As their hands met so did their eyes, Enjolras’ deep sea blue ones locked on Grantaire’s lighter sky blue. They stood there, both seeming quite lost in the moment until R regained his sensibilities and quickly spoke up again.

“Um, here’s some information about me and my art. I do some commission work, portraits and the like. If you’re ever interested, my contact information is right here in the brochure. Your clever friend there may need some help with the bigger words.”

He got the much desired response as Enjolras laughed again. R thought he could never possibly hear that sound often enough. He did wonder for a moment though if it might only ever come at the expense of the poor chap with the brown eyes and the big mouth. But Grantaire didn’t care. Whatever it took, he was well and truly hooked.

“Thank you, R” Enjolras smiled at him. “My father has been talking a lot about a family portrait lately. I’ll definitely keep you in mind should he decide to actually do something about it.”

“Or you could surprise him with it yourself” Grantaire pointed out quickly, in no hurry to lose sight of the young man with the fair skin and angelic blonde curls. “You know, as a gift, perhaps? I do make house calls!” he added, smiling.

“Brilliant!” said Enjolras. “Right then, you’ll definitely be hearing from me.”

“I’ll look forward to it then”, R smiled again, extending his hand and feeling the unmistakable energy that passed between them as Enjolras accepted and returned the handshake.

R turned back to greet the next group of visitors who had stopped to admire his work and when he looked around again, Enjolras had disappeared into the crowd. He hoped it wouldn’t be too long before their paths might cross again and he would hear that marvelous laugh, the one whose echo now seemed to ring not only in his ears but also in his heart.

“So, seems like rubbish boy fancies you, mate!” Courf, having recovered himself a bit, slapped Enjolras playfully on the back as they made their way out of the gallery and into the cool night air.   

“Don’t call him that, Courf, just because he actually has to work for a living. What would you know about that anyway?” Enjolras shot back, only slightly defensively.

“What’s this?! Don’t tell me you fancy _him_   too, ‘Jolras!? I don’t believe what I’m hearing! You better hope your father never finds out about this, mate. He’d kill you barehanded, you know!”

“And I’ll kill **_you_** myself barehanded if you breathe a word of this to **_anyone_** , Courf! Not even to Marius or ‘Ferre. I’m serious, mate. Not a word, you understand? Swear it!”

Courfeyrac had seen that fiery look before in his friend’s eyes and he knew it was nothing to play around with.

“Right, mate. I swear it then, on my sainted grandmother’s grave.” Courf replied, crossing his heart for an added measure of sincerity as he spoke.

Convinced that this new and exciting but potentially dangerous secret was reasonably secure for the time being, Enjolras relaxed a bit. Smiling, he punched Courf playfully on the shoulder again and they walked the rest of the way home together in companionable silence enjoying the warm summer evening beneath a clear and starlit sky.


	3. Little Did We Know...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A business lunch... yeah, we'll just go with that....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for taking so long to get Chapter 3 posted. Real life not only intervened but came crashing down upon me like some seriously pissed off Velociraptor. I lost a dear friend to a very untimely and unexpected death, followed a week later by a beloved aunt who had been in poor health. All this while I was far away from either of them AND from my own home, helping my disabled mother move from one side of our hometown to the other, almost singlehandedly... I promise I will do my best to keep any other angry raptors at bay so I can post Chapter 4 in a more timely fashion. Thank you for reading and Cheers to us all!

 

**CHAPTER 3**

 Grantaire was quite surprised but even more nervous and excited when, a few weeks after the art exhibit, a text came through on his mobile from Enjolras, the blond haired boy he’d handed his business card to that night.

 _Hi R, its Enjolras, from the party. Would you be available to meet and talk about possibly doing my family portrait? I showed your brochure to my father and he’s definitely interested. Would you like to get a coffee somewhere maybe?_ \- E

Grantaire’s hands shook as he typed his reply, trying to sound cool and nonchalant while feeling anything but. Should he respond right away? Should he wait awhile? His brain was buzzing. Finally he just hit send, then set the phone down and walked outside to get some air.

 _Hi Enjolras, sure I’d be happy to meet with you and talk about this project. My schedule is fairly flexible so just say when and where. Glad you contacted me. I’m sure we can put something together that will please your dad._ \- R

After a few minutes outdoors, Grantaire returned to his tiny but comfortable studio where he’d been working most of the day on one of his commission pieces. He purposely bypassed the phone, still lying where he’d left it on the small table just inside the door. He just wasn’t sure his nerves could handle the prospect of a reply from Enjolras or possibly the lack of one. And he still wasn’t even 100% certain how this boy had gotten under his skin this way, so fully and so fast. At just 19, he had never felt this way before- about **_anyone_** \- and he was finding the whole experience to be rather unsettling.

Even so, he was elated when he saw the response from Enjolras waiting on his phone.

 _There’s a really good coffee shop not far from the university, the Café Musain. Maybe you know it? They make pretty decent food too. Lunch, tomorrow, say around 1:00?_   -E

Grantaire’s heart began beating wildly till it sounded like a tom-tom drum, the pulsating beat throbbing steadily in his ears. He wondered briefly if it was possible to die from this, whatever ‘ _this’_ was. He hoped it wouldn’t be fatal, at least not in his case. And so the young artist with the mystery affliction waited awhile till his heartbeat mellowed out and his breathing got more regular again before replying to Enjolras’ text.

 _I do know the place, actually. Excellent choice. See you tomorrow at 1:00 then. I’ll have a trash bag in one hand and a palette in the other so you’ll be sure to recognize me._ ;-) -R

Tomorrow!? But tomorrow was too soon, too quick, too far away, too long to wait. Exhausted from the sudden rush of adrenaline and dizzying stream of emotions, Grantaire lay down on the comfortable old sofa in his studio, closed his eyes and drifted into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

 

 Enjolras was already waiting at the Musain the next day when Grantaire arrived for their afternoon lunch meeting. R wore his least paint-spattered pair of black skinny jeans and a light, sea-foam green polo shirt that seemed to match his eyes perfectly. He carried a well-worn canvas messenger bag draped over one shoulder. And, as promised, in one hand a large black rubbish bag (sans rubbish) and in the other an artist’s palette sporting a rainbow of long since dried paints.

Enjolras laughed aloud when he spotted Grantaire who was steadily making his way through the lunch crowd to a table for two he had secured for them in the back corner of the café. Grantaire’s heart spiraled upward with the sound of that laughter. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the brown haired, loud mouthed sidekick was nowhere in sight. R was smiling broadly as he reached the table and Enjolras held out his hand in greeting. The artist reciprocated, covering the proffered hand with both his own and desperately hoping that when he spoke, his voice wouldn’t tremble as noticeably as the rest of him seemed to be.

“Good to see you again, Enjolras” Grantaire managed firmly enough, smiling and still holding on to the blond boy’s delicate, almost feminine hand.

He wondered if the current flowing between them in that moment was only in his mind as he reluctantly released the hand and sat down across from its impossibly good-looking owner.

“Thank you for contacting me about your project, too” Grantaire continued, more confidently now. “I really appreciate the chance to show you some of my portrait work and talk about your ideas as well. So, then, tell me a bit about your family.”

“Well, let’s see…” Enjolras sounded a bit apprehensive as he started to speak.

He was actually fidgeting in his seat, Grantaire noticed, and nervously twirling a lock of his curly golden hair around one of his long dainty fingers. Grantaire could hardly take his eyes off the angelic, almost ethereally beautiful young man seated opposite him. But he didn’t want to freak the kid out either, or come across like some kind of pervy creeper. Enjolras seemed to be studiously avoiding any direct eye contact with Grantaire as he began speaking again.

“There’s my mum and dad, there’s Phillipa…she’s my little sister, we just call her Pip…and then there’s me. Oh yeah, and Sir Edward, Eddie, our pet dog. He’s a beagle. Dad just adores him.” 

“ ** _Sir_** Edward, eh? A regal beagle, is he?” Grantaire chuckled, amused at his own clever word play. He was relieved when Enjolras laughed as well, glad to know he hadn’t intimidated the poor boy completely.

Just then they were approached by a lovely, young dark eyed girl with a bright red flower in her tightly woven braid, pad and pen in hand and a crisp white towel draped over her shoulder. She smiled widely when she recognized Grantaire.

“Taire, darling!” She bent down to wrap the artist in a quick hug. “How are you today, lovey? And who’s your cute friend?”

Enjolras blushed furiously but smiled at the girl anyway, if only to be polite. When he looked more closely at her, though, she looked quite familiar. Enjolras figured he’d probably just seen her here before, perhaps in passing, since he and his friends frequented the café pretty often. She also looked enough like Grantaire that she could be his younger sister. Maybe she was. After all, Enjolras realized, since he knew nothing whatsoever about the older boy, anything was possible.  

“Hey ‘Ponine” Grantaire replied, smiling fondly at the girl and hugging her in return. Then in his best attempt at a stage whisper he said “This is a potential client for some commission work. I’m actually in kind of a business meeting here, love.”

She pulled away, straightening up and winking at him as she ‘whispered’ back, “Business meeting, eh? Is that what you young blokes are calling it these days?”

Then she turned back to Enjolras and said “What’ll you have, dove?”

“Are the vegetables in your veggie wrap organic and fair trade?” asked the boy with complete earnestness.

“Not certain, dove, I’d have to ask” Eponine replied, wondering what he meant by ‘fair trade’.

“Never mind then. I’ll just have the falafel burger, please. And some ginger tea.”

“Right, got it. And for you, ‘Taire?”

“Baked brie. And a loaf of your very finest French bread, mademoiselle. Oh, yeah, and a cappuccino, two shots” Grantaire said with a smile as he handed her their folded menus.

“Coming right up then, lads. I’ll leave you two to your ‘business meeting’.”

Eponine winked at Grantaire once more as she walked away, headed for the kitchen to place their order.

“Was that girl your sister, R?” Enjolras inquired shyly, not wanting to appear intrusive or rude.

“Not my real sister, Enjolras. But Eponine’s the closest thing to family I’ve got. She’s a good girl, a true blue friend. But enough about that. Let’s get back to you and your family. Just how _did_ Sir Edward get his lordly title anyway?”

Enjolras laughed and smiled shyly, sending flutters through Grantaire’s heart. Hopefully, just this once, lunch would be a little slow in getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WILL WRITE FOR COMMENTS... And cookies are good too....


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from warm to hot to stone cold....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for taking so long to get this chapter written and posted. But here it is. Hopefully again you will find it worth the wait. I appreciate the kudos everyone has left, they're a great help. I would REALLY appreciate your comments, though I know they take a bit more time. Your feedback (constructive and productive) is needed and welcomed, always... Also, a special note to my UK readers: if at any time I misuse terms or slang words, I ask you PLEASE to let me know so that I can fix them. Thanks again and happy reading!

 

Chapter 4

 Grantaire had never before had a business lunch that lasted three hours and ended with a walk along the river but that’s how his ‘business meeting’ with Enjolras had unfolded. In fairness, they DID discuss the portrait idea. Enjolras wanted Grantaire to paint a portrait of he and his family, a gift for his father, and Grantaire agreed to the commission. Once all that was out of the way there was just walking, talking and laughing, much to Grantaire’s delight. He simply loved the sound of that laugh.

“You’re really quite smart and talented, R. So why were you working picking up the rubbish at my graduation party?”

Grantaire chuckled a bit at the boy’s honest naiveté. Clearly his life had always been a privileged one and as a result he was sheltered, unaware.

“My circumstances are a bit different than yours, Enjolras. The family I was born into had nothing, always had nothing. My parents weren’t like yours, they weren’t good decent people like your mum and dad. My father was a drunken sot, mean as a pit viper. He’d give me a right kicking whenever he felt like it, just because. I got out as soon as I could, made my own way. I work so that I can afford my art classes at uni, take jobs wherever I can find them. That’s how you saw me picking rubbish. I don’t worry about the work really, only that it pays for things I do care about. It’s not who I am or who I plan to be, it’s just the means to an end, you understand?”

Enjolras nodded. He’d been listening quietly and intently to the dark haired boy as he spoke. He wasn’t ready to tell him that his own family wasn’t quite so perfect as they looked. He didn’t understand why but he wanted badly to share this with Grantaire, felt that he was someone who could be trusted but Father had always told him never to ‘air the dirty laundry’ with strangers. No, his own family’s skeletons would have to remain locked securely in the cupboard, he thought, at least for now.

For his own part, Grantaire couldn’t believe he had just shared all that with someone he barely knew, a client, just a kid really! But there was something about this boy walking beside him that made Grantaire feel open, vulnerable yet somehow safe. He just didn’t understand it.

“Maybe you should come to our house, meet father and decide on the best place to do the portrait”, Enjolras said. “Will you have us sit for you whilst you paint? That could take a while, eh?”

“No”, Grantaire replied. “I usually get the family together in the place they decide on and take a few photographs, share them with the family to see which one they prefer then make the portrait from that. I do the actual work in my studio.”

Enjolras’ face fell. He thought having Grantaire around for a while might be nice. He got bored and lonely at home sometimes, and he really enjoyed talking with the art student. Enjolras hoped for the chance to spend more time with him and really get to know him. He wasn’t sure Grantaire would feel the same, though. After all, Enjolras was still a kid, just 17 and going into sixth form. Grantaire was already working, going to university and almost 20. How much could they possibly have in common?

“Well,” Grantaire replied thoughtfully, “I suppose I could have you all sit for me if you prefer it that way. It’s a bit old school, really, but it’s still done. I guess that would be up to your dad then, eh?”

Enjolras smiled brightly. “I’ll ask him about it as soon as I get home then!”

“Very well then, young sir”, Grantaire replied grandly, complete with bow and flourish, “As you wish.”

He smiled at Enjolras who was just beaming back at him and laughing at the show of comic pompousness.  

“I’ve really enjoyed this time with you today, R”, Enjolras said quietly, looking down at the ground. “I hope we can do this again sometime, I mean, if you’d like that is. I know you’re busy with work and school and all.”

Enjolras stammered a bit and stumbled over his words, something completely out of character for him. Why on earth did this dark haired boy make him feel so… so… nervous?

Grantaire reached over tentatively and took Enjolras’ hand, then gently lifted the boys’ chin with a finger, forcing him to meet the artist’s eyes. The moment was electric.

“I’d really like that a lot, Enjolras”, Grantaire replied.

He said it so softly and so sincerely that it made the bottom fall out of Enjolras stomach and drop straight to his groin.

Enjolras had known for some time now that he was gay, a fact that was common knowledge amongst his close friends but still a secret hidden from his family, especially from his father.  The patriarch of this well-known family full of ‘some ones’ would not take kindly to such news. The elder man expected his golden boy to carry the family name and legacy into the future in all its gilded glory. Those dreams would be shattered should it become known that he had a poofter for a son. The weight of all those dreams and familial expectations lay heavy on the young boy’s shoulders, the burden becoming almost unbearable at times. So he chose to keep his genuine self hidden from his family, his true feelings concealed beneath a mask of marble, fitting somehow for the boy with the delicate features of a fine alabaster statue.

A few weeks passed and finally a meeting time had been set for Grantaire to come to Enjolras’ family home to meet with the father and discuss his wishes for their formal portrait. The father was a very busy man, of course, and getting an appointment with him was no easy feat, so Grantaire felt rather pleased with himself that he was able to get this meeting set up so soon.

He arrived promptly dressed in a dark grey linen suit and tie, black wing tip shoes, and carrying his professional portfolio under his arm. He’d done what he could with his mop of messy black curls but once again, they were determined to do their own thing so he’d brushed them down as soon as he’d gotten out of the shower earlier that afternoon and prayed they would just dry in place. Of course that wasn’t about to happen.

“Bloody hell” he muttered, ringing the doorbell and trying one last time to tame them with his free hand while he waited for someone to answer.

The man who opened the door, a butler Grantaire assumed (never having actually seen one before), looked askance at the young man standing there before him.

“Can I help you, young man?” he asked, speaking in a clipped, upper class accent.

“Yes please, squire. I have an appointment with your guvnor.”

“Indeed?” responded the butler rather dubiously.

“I do sir. I’ve come to speak with him about a portrait he’s commissioned me to do of his family. Here’s my card”, answered Grantaire, speaking calmly and politely as he handed the man his business card.

Grantaire managed to keep his composure even while faced with someone who clearly seemed to feel it was quite beneath him having to deal with this….this… peasant.

“Remain here”, said the butler, not inviting him in even as far as the foyer.

The large front door closed firmly in his face, leaving Grantaire standing there on the landing. He wondered just what sort of ‘home’ this must be for a boy like Enjolras. He really hoped that his experience here thus far wasn’t a portend of things to come. He wanted his meeting with Enjolras the elder to be professional but also friendly at the same time. Hope for that seemed to be fading quickly as the minutes passed slowly. Then the door was opened again and he was wordlessly ushered into the foyer where he was once more instructed to “remain here.” He realized there wasn't much choice in the matter since that had clearly been an order and not a suggestion. Nothing to do now but wait, he told himself. So he stared down at his feet, catching sight of his own reflection in the shiny black dress shoes, frowned, and waited. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A business meeting leads to work and perhaps more.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the huge delay in posting this. Sometimes life just sucks. RIP Robin Williams....

**Chapter 5**

The wait had seemed interminable. Once or twice Grantaire thought for certain the sound of his pounding heart could certainly be heard echoing in the large, empty marble foyer. But now he was seated in front of Enjolras’ father, Hugo, a successful businessman with an imposing figure, so unlike the delicate, almost feminine frame of his only son.

With only the most preliminary of greetings, Hugo got right to business.

“Let me see some of your work, young man.”

Grantaire laid his portfolio carefully on the large desk and opened it to display some of the commission work he’d done in portraiture. He wasn’t sure if he should speak, try to talk about the pieces or just let the elder man look them over in silence, waiting for any questions or comments he might have. He opted for the silence.

“You have some talent boy”, Hugo stated abruptly.

“Thank you sir” Grantaire replied, smiling.

“So what do you plan to do with yourself, er, sorry, your name again?”

“Grantaire, sir.”

“Yes, of course. Grantaire. Your portfolio is quite impressive for someone so young. What are your future plans? You could do a lot with talent like this if you decided to really apply yourself.”

“I’m still at university, sir”, Grantaire replied a bit more confidently. “I take private classes whenever I can but I also work. I would like to do more commission work, develop my sculpting skills. And I’d really like to travel someday.”

“But how do you plan to make your money, son? You’ll never get rich as an artist.”  

Grantaire thought carefully about how to respond to this, unwilling to offend a potential client right out of the gate by cracking wise which of course was always his go-to response.

“Well, sir, honestly I’m not sure I’m placing that high of a priority on becoming rich as an artist, or really even famous for that matter. I figure that as long as I love art and can make a reasonable living doing what I love then that’s all that really matters. At least that’s how I view it right now. Who knows? My priorities may shift quite a bit after university or in the next ten years. I’ve always made my own way, since I’m just a kid. I know I’ll get by whatever comes, no worries.”

Grantaire stopped speaking then, letting the last words hang in the silence for a bit.   Then the old man spoke up.

“Son, that’s about the most straightforward and honest answer I’ve ever heard. There’s nothing I value more than honesty.  So then, how do we go about getting this portrait done? My boy seems quite keen on the idea.”

Grantaire sat up even straighter in the old wing-back chair, smiling comfortably now. His mind flickered to Enjolras for just the briefest second before he replied.

“Yes sir! Indeed he is! Well, Enjolras did suggest the possibility of having you all sit for me, you know, formally, the way it was done in the old days. But I realize that’s quite time consuming” Grantaire said. “Especially for a busy man such as yourself” he added, figuring a little ego-stroking couldn’t hurt, though it seemed the old man had plenty.

“No” he said somewhat gruffly, “No, that won’t be possible I’m afraid. Just too much going on. So what are our alternatives then, young man?”

“Really the best one is to do a photograph, a few different takes, you know. Then choose the one you fancy most and I can create the portrait in my studio just as if you were sitting for me. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Yes, quite!” was the pleasant reply from the elder man who now seemed not quite so imposing as he had just a short time before.

Just then came a soft knock at the office door.

“Enter” commanded the deep voice from behind the desk.

The door cracked just a bit and a head of blonde curls appeared through the partially open door. Grantaire’s heart jumped nearly into his throat while his stomach proceeded to plummet directly to his crotch. Then, as quickly as he could manage, Grantaire pulled on his best, most formal business face and somehow managed to pretend, if only for the briefest moment, that this was just another day at the office.

 “Am I interrupting Father?” asked a quiet voice, its owner still partly hidden from sight by the office door that stood slightly ajar.

“No, no. Come in son. I was just meeting with your artist friend, Grantaire. Seems we’re going to have a family portrait done by this young man!”

Hugo sounded positively excited at the prospect.  Enjolras couldn’t quite believe his ears.

Enjolras entered the room and tried to feign mild surprise at the sight of Grantaire seated across from his father. Of course he’d known about this meeting from the moment the appointment had been set. His heart was doing the same corkscrew leaps that Grantaire had been working to suppress just moments ago. So like Grantaire, Enjolras pulled on his marble mask and acted as if he knew this artist person merely in passing.

Grantaire took the cue, stood up and politely extended his hand to the boy who had now fully entered the room.

“Enjolras” he said, shaking the boy’s hand. “Good to see you again.”

Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ hand trembling in his own and the feelings that sensation created inside him were definitely less than businesslike.

‘Let go. Let go Let go’ Grantaire’s brain shouted at him insistently until a few seconds later when his body finally complied.

They stood a mere foot or two apart, still the electricity flowed freely, wildly between them and both realized something had to be done, and quickly.

“Father, would it be ok if I showed Grantaire the house and grounds? Perhaps that way he can get some ideas about where our portrait should be set. The gardens might be a lovely spot, yes?”

Enjolras to the rescue just as Grantaire’s knees were threatening to give out from under him.

“Yes, brilliant. Right, off you go then.”

Hugo sat back behind his desk, effectively dismissing them both. No need for further discussion, both boys were out the door in a single burst closing it behind them and heading for the foyer. Enjolras grabbed for Grantaire’s hand and pulled them both out the front door. It seemed rather a bold move coming from the younger boy but Grantaire had no desire, nor will, to resist it.

“I just need to put my portfolio in my car, ok? Then I’ll follow you anywhere” Grantaire said quickly, perhaps not realizing how that last statement might be interpreted but then again really not caring. Maybe he meant it just that way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little 'after meeting' stroll through the gardens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I know Enjolras is sooooo totally OOC right now but c'mon folks, he's still just a kid.... I promise he'll snap back to his true, recognizable form before this story ends...

 

Chapter 6

With his portfolio safely stowed in the boot of his car, Grantaire was now free to ‘follow Enjolras anywhere’ as promised. His mind was still just a bit confuddled by his choice of those particular words but they were out there now, and there’d be no getting them back. At first they walked a polite distance apart, still in sight of the windows of the main house. They were quiet mostly but still the air fairly crackled with the charged current that coursed between them as they strolled.

Enjolras spoke first.

“Dad likes you. I can tell he really does. I knew he would.”  His voice trailed off.

“I’m glad he’s giving me the chance to paint you all. Even if it’s just from a photograph” Grantaire said softly.

What he wanted to add was ‘Because nothing would make me happier than looking at your face every day from now until forever.’ But he didn’t. Grantaire’s sudden urge to grab for Enjolras’ hand was almost overwhelming. The desire to grab him and kiss him breathless was quite nearly killing him.

“So we won’t be sitting for you then, eh?” Enjolras said, the disappointment obvious in his tone.

“No, afraid not mate. Your Father wouldn't go for that. Too much going on in his world, you know.”

Enjolras stared at the ground. “Yes. I know.”

The look of dejection on the blonde boy’s face produced a hot, piercing pain in Grantaire’s heart. He winced involuntarily, tried to cover it with a cough. He wasn't sure if it had worked.

They walked on for a while in silence again, finally arriving in the beautifully appointed though small formal garden located a good 50 meters behind the main house. There was an elaborate marble fountain in the center, two naiads at play, a spray of water rising gracefully between them. In the far corner of the garden was a man-made grotto, a curved wall of stone and river rocks, large sections of it covered with moss. Long slender twigs covered with delicate elliptical shaped leaves hung gracefully down from above and water flowed musically over the rocks into a small pond alive with lily pads. A vine covered arbor marked the entrance to the grotto and the boys walked through it together, nearly shoulder to shoulder now, headed for a stone bench beside the pond.

“I thought maybe here….” Enjolras started to say, turning toward Grantaire.

 He was abruptly cut off by a pair of warm, dry lips crashing against his own, strong arms enveloping him until the space between the two boys disappeared completely. Enjolras was suddenly swept by a firestorm of emotion; confusion, uncertainty, excitement, a tiny bit of fear, but something even stronger than all that, something more like _need._ Without hesitation he melded into the kiss, not knowing for certain if he was doing it right because he’d never done it before. But it felt right though. It felt so very, very right.

They broke apart at last, both breathless, Grantaire’s forehead resting lightly against Enjolras’, still drinking him in. They clung to each other, neither seeming willing to break the embrace, to interrupt the flow of intoxicating feelings so strange and new to both of them.

“Oh God, what have I done?” was the first thing Grantaire managed to say when he regained his senses. “Oh my God, I am so sorry Enjolras. I shouldn't have done that, I should never have….”

His protestations were silenced by a pair of soft, moist, still kiss-swollen lips pressed gently against his, arms wrapped lightly around him, delicate hands soothing his lightly trembling shoulders. Enjolras pushed away just far enough to see Grantaire’s face clearly.

“Please, Grantaire, please don’t say you’re sorry” Enjolras pled, his voice nearly breaking. “Please tell me you really meant what you just did, that you don’t regret it. I wanted you to, truly I did, ever since that day at the café. I didn't know how to tell you. I was so scared you wouldn't feel the same way. I just... I don’t know. I've never done this before.”

Enjolras was trembling harder now. There were tears welling in his deep blue eyes, threatening at their corners.

“No, no…Oh, please Enjolras…please, don’t cry…” Grantaire hushed, pulling the younger boy close again, wanting nothing more than to hold him like this forever and keep every bad feeling in the world from ever reaching him again.

He guided them both to the stone bench and they sat, still holding each other close. Grantaire reached for Enjolras’ hand, intertwining their fingers together then pressing their two clasped hands against his own heart (which was still doing some kind of crazy interpretive dance inside his chest…)

“Listen to me, Enjolras”, Grantaire spoke softly but firmly, using his free hand to gently lift the boy’s chin till they were once again face to face. He needed Enjolras to hear the truth in his words but even more importantly to see it there in his eyes.

“I _did_ mean it, _all_ of it…And no, I most certainly do not regret it. My only fear was frightening you or making you feel pressured to do something you weren't ready for. I would never want to do anything to hurt you, not ever. I just don’t know, you know, I’ve never done this before either so I’m not sure how it all goes.”

Grantaire paused for a moment before speaking again, having the sudden realization that he’d never felt less eloquent in his entire life, rather a sorry state for an artist. “But I think maybe… I think perhaps I could be… I’m not sure but I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Enjolras’ eyes grew wide. Grantaire couldn't tell if the expression was one of complete yet pleasant surprise or absolute and utter horror. He wasn't sure he was ready to know the answer.

“I think, well no, I mean I _feel_ like, maybe I might feel that way too….about you, I mean…you know?” Enjolras stammered, staring resolutely at his feet as he spoke. He thought for one horrific second that he might just vomit on his shoes from the sheer terror coursing through him.

“What do we do then?” Grantaire asked, feeling all of about twelve years old again and attending his first KS3 dance.

Enjolras was still fixated on his shoes and trying to contain his stomach contents for at least another minute.

“I don’t know” he said so softly Grantaire almost missed it. “I really don’t know, R.”

Grantaire liked the sound of his more familiar name coming off the lips of this impossibly beautiful young man seated so close beside him.

“It’ll be OK, young Apollo” he said, rubbing slow, lazy circles on Enjolras’ still slightly trembling back.  “No worries. We will just have to make it up as we go I guess” Grantaire managed with way more confidence than he actually felt.

He had not the slightest clue what came next or where this new path might take them. What he did know for certain though was that he would do anything, **_anything_** , whatever it might take to **_make_** it OK- for them, for both of them, but mostly for him….anything in the world for him…


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love hurts...but blurting out your best friend's secret can hurt a lot more... Poor Courf...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Real life continues to suck big hairy gorillas balls....

Chapter 7

It had been three days since their first kiss, that still dreamlike moment in the garden at Enjolras’ parents’ home, the one moment that had changed everything; three long days since they’d seen each other, practically an eternity for two young people newly in love.

Enjolras’ father had called Grantaire the day after their first meeting and arranged a time for him to come back the following week for the photography session. The goal was to get a family picture that pleased and satisfied everyone, one from which Grantaire could make an actual painted portrait.   Enjolras knew about the upcoming appointment of course, knew that it was an impossibly long way off, knew that if he couldn’t see the dark haired artist again soon- like yesterday- the pain of missing him and the emptiness without him near might just kill the youngster.

Then a sudden brilliant thought crept into his jumbled brain and a slow smile spread across his face. The tabling event at the university- Grantaire’s university- was in just two days. While even that felt much too long it served to give Enjolras a glimmer of hope that temporarily relieved his heartache.

Enjolras’ small group of student activists, organized around issues of social justice, economic equity and gender equality, were scheduled to have a table at the university’s annual Cultural Diversity Awareness Day. This dedicated group had tabled at this event for the past two years. It was one of the regular events they really looked forward to, a chance to speak out to a large audience about causes near to their hearts. Being invited back to the university event had become a point of pride with these lads, all still in secondary school, so they put their very best efforts into the organizing.

Enjolras had first formed this group, Les Amis de l’ABC, when he was about 14. In the beginning it had consisted mainly of his close friends; Marius, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were all founding members. Enjolras was their leader, something that felt so natural and right that a vote on the matter would have seemed superfluous. Combeferre was the group’s guide, the philosopher. He believed the group’s aims would best be achieved through peaceful dialogue and other civilized means. Combeferre helped to keep Enjolras’ ardent passions in check. He also acted as something of a ‘tour guide to the human experience’ for their leader whose brilliance led to frequent attacks of total obliviousness, usually at the worst possible times. Courfeyrac was the group’s center, loyal and devoted to Enjolras, best mate to Marius, but voted most likely to be ‘class clown’ by everyone who knew him well. Courfeyrac was brave and would never back down from a fight, but he’d probably be the one making everyone laugh right up to the moment when fists started flying.  If Combeferre was Enjolras’ right hand man, Marius would have to be his left. Marius shared Enjolras passions and their viewpoints were very similar, especially on the more significant issues the group chose as their focal points.  Marius could also write a very brilliant speech. He just lacked Enjolras’ spiritedness in the delivery. Still, he was always the go-to guy if Enjolras couldn’t make it to a rally or speaking engagement. Marius took tremendous pride in his position in the group and in the trust and confidence that Enjolras placed in him.

Along the way their little group had grown to include Jean Prouvaire, called Jehan by his friends, Joly and Bossuet. Jehan seemed to have born to be an activist, a boy that would have been perfectly at home in the 1960’s, right down to his long, braided hair and the delicately woven crowns of wildflowers he so often wore. He was a poet, a tender soul and a self-professed dreamer. If comfort or spirit lifting was needed, Jehan was there with a hug, a gentle back rub or a pot of chamomile-ginger tea, his own special blend with just a touch of honey. Jehan breathed an air of geniality into this group of occasionally hot-headed, single-minded young idealists.

Bossuet had already thinning hair at 17. He also had the most dreadful luck imaginable, yet an ever present smile and a profound love of laughter. Like Enjolras, he hoped to study law when he got to university. Bossuet’s closest friend was Joly whose hope was for a career in medicine. Unfortunately Joly was also a terrible hypochondriac and was constantly ‘coming down ill’ with whatever new disease or condition he came across in his studies. 

An eclectic little group to be sure, but Enjolras was its undisputed heart and soul. Those closest to him knew that he would do great things in his life and they all felt privileged just to be part of his ‘inner circle’.  This was the group that had now gathered in their favorite meeting place, a quiet little back room of the Café Musain, the place where Enjolras and Grantaire had first met for lunch. The café was owned by a woman named Musichetta who was a dear friend of both Bossuet and Joly. She had allowed the youngsters to use the back room for their ‘little club’, as she called it fondly, as long as they were reasonably quiet and respectful of the space which, of course, they were on both counts.

Knowing that he would be speaking to what was hoped would be a large crowd at the university, **_Grantaire’s university_** , had Enjolras even more riled up than usual. He wanted to make sure that everything, absolutely everything, about this event went off perfectly, even more than perfectly if that were possible. He of course believed it was. They were all busy at their assigned tasks. Courf was mostly busy being his highly energetic self, laughing and chatting to everyone, bustling around their meeting room organizing stacks of poster paper and handouts, laying out sharpies for the signs they would need to make.

He called out to Enjolras brightly, “Hey ‘Jolras! Since that uni boy you fancy is such an amazing artist, maybe he could…..”

At the sight of Enjolras’ death glare and rapidly reddening face, Courf suddenly realized what he had just said and clamped his own hand over his mouth in complete horror. One could have heard a campaign leaflet drop in the next few moments of deathly silence that filled the room. All eyes were on Enjolras. They knew that look in his eyes, the one he always had just before he went on the attack, and everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath waiting for that attack to commence.  When Enjolras spoke again it was in a low and dangerous tone.

“Courfeyrac, may I speak with you outside?”

With Enjolras resorting to the use of Courf’s proper name, everyone realized just how bad this really was. Enjolras turned away and headed purposefully for the door, expecting that Courf would not need any further invitation to follow. He didn’t. Courf was out that door practically on his leader’s tail and he opened his mouth to, to what? Apologize? Defend himself? What defense could there possibly BE for such a heinous transgression? Hadn’t he sworn on his own sainted grandmother’s grave not to say a word to ANYONE about ANY of this? Ever??  But before any sound could escape his throat which felt strangely constricted at the moment, Enjolras was there mere centimeters from his face, his forearm pressed menacingly against Courf’s throat ('Ah, that would explain that constricted feeling' Courf thought vaguely…)

“What the actual fuck, Courf?!?”

Oh, this WAS going to be bad. Enjolras was using obscenities. This was something he almost never did, considering it coarse and undignified. With his vast command of language, he had no real need for words like that. Except in moments like this.

And so he repeated, “What the actual fuck??!”

“Enjolras, I am so….” Courf started to say.

“Shut it Courf! Just fucking shut it!” Enjolras screamed at him, the red heat in his face so hot that Courfeyrac felt like his own face was burning. Maybe that would've been preferable to this.

“I don’t even want to hear your apologies or excuses right now Courf! You swore to me you would never breathe a word of this to anyone. You fucking _**swore**_ it! Now they ALL know!!”

His words were coming faster and even more furious now.

“How am I supposed to maintain any kind of dignity or respect, any kind of command presence? I’ll be a complete laughingstock! They all know I've never dated anyone, let alone fallen in love wi….”

And now it was Enjolras’ turn to clamp his hand over his own mouth and go wide-eyed with horror at the realization of what **_he_** had just said, that truth held so deep in his heart, the truth that had only been spoken once, to the only person he wanted, _needed_ to share that truth with.  He released his hold on Courfeyrac’s neck and slumped down the wall to the sidewalk, head in hands, feeling totally mortified and utterly defeated. Courf followed him to the ground, sitting close, but not too close, and reached out tentatively to gently place an arm around his friend’s now heaving shoulders. After several moments of just sitting like this, in complete silence, it was Courfeyrac who bravely spoke first.

“Welcome to the experiences of the human heart, mate. It’s gonna be a right wild ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/R again next chapter, promise! Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras gets to be a little more Enjolras-y and Grantaire tries hard to be a grownup. There is angst, tension, a lot of feels.... oh yeah, and kissing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this one a little extra long to make up for the long wait between chapters. Chapter 9 is in progress! Thanks for reading and I hope you'll think it was worth the wait! ;-)

 

Chapter 8

When Courf returned to the meeting room after several long minutes of being outside everyone looked up from their tasks, half expecting to see Courf with his face rearranged courtesy of Enjolras’ angry fists. No one said a word at first. Combeferre had managed to redirect everyone’s attention back to the task at hand despite the excitement and tension aroused by whatever it was that had just happened between Enjolras and Courf.

For his part, Enjolras had been unable to return to the meeting. He simply couldn't face them all again right after the confrontation so he had withdrawn to the relative safety of the school library.

It was Courf who spoke up first, breaking the tense and awkward silence in the meeting room.

“Alright you lot, listen up. There will be no mention of that…that….whatever that was, ever again and NEVER around Enjolras unless you have a death wish. Whatever it is, it’s none of our business so just leave it lay, yeah?”

A few mumbled ‘right’s and several heads nodded in agreement, sealing their pact to never speak of it again. But, boys being boys, Courf knew only too well that it would likely be the primary topic of hushed conversations amongst themselves for the foreseeable future. He also knew with terrible certainty that his own lips must remain sealed lest he once again incur the wrath of their fiery and fiercely private leader. Courf still couldn't believe he’d been stupid and careless enough to let Enjolras’ secret slip that way. He hoped his friend would somehow be able to forgive him but supposed it might be awhile, if ever, before Enjolras would trust him fully again. A feeling of deep sadness came over Courf at that realization, a pain in his heart for having let his dear friend down and in such sensational fashion.

For Enjolras, the initial stinging pain of betrayal, hurt and anger was already starting to fade. He felt…what? He wasn't sure. Confused? Embarrassed?  Maybe even a bit afraid? He couldn't exactly describe or explain any of it, not to himself let alone anyone else. All he knew for certain was he needed to see Grantaire, NOW. He pulled out his phone and fired off a brief text, hoping his desperation didn't somehow leak into the electrons he was sending through the air.

_“Are you free to meet me now?” –E_

The response was almost immediate.

_“Anytime, young Apollo. Just say where.” –R_

_“Your studio, if that’s OK with you?” –E_

_“I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” –R_

_“See you soon then. And thanks, R.” – E_

Enjolras left the library and began the 8 block walk to Grantaire’s studio/workshop/sometimes living space. He’d loved R’s description of the place the day they walked by the river after their ‘business meeting’ at the café. Now he would get to see it for himself. He walked slowly, still in a sort of emotional haze. He wondered what he would say to Grantaire when he saw him, how he would explain all of this…whatever. Mostly he wondered why he’d felt such a powerful need to see the raven-haired artist in this very confusing and strange situation. But when Grantaire opened the door to greet the blonde boy a short while later, it was immediately clear there would be no need for words after all.

Enjolras practically fell into the artist’s arms, sobbing brokenly and mumbling into Grantaire’s shoulder. “They know….Courf said…How could he?!...Can’t face them…” They boy seemed simply desolate and inconsolable.

“Whoa there, slow down young Apollo! Come in, take a breath and we’ll sit and have some tea and talk about this, OK? Just calm down and breathe now.”

Grantaire took Enjolras’ arm and led him to the well-loved, chocolate brown sofa in the corner next to a large picture window. A low fire burned in an old pot belly stove across the room and its warmth filled the small, homey workspace.

Once Enjolras was settled on the sofa and doing his best with the calming breaths, Grantaire set about making tea for them. A kettle set atop the old stove gurgled and steamed and in a moment Grantaire was back beside Enjolras, proffering a steaming mug. Enjolras took it, sniffed the familiar aroma wafting up from the hot drink and looked up, smiling through his tears.

“Ginger tea! But how did you…..”

“That first day at the café. You ordered it with lunch.” Grantaire smiled shyly as he sat down beside Enjolras, his own cup of ginger tea in hand.

“Now tell me, Apollo. What seems to be the problem?”

“Oh, R. I don’t even know where to start.” Enjolras seemed ready to start crying again at any moment.

“Then just start at the beginning and go from there. Take your time. And remember to breathe once in a while.”

In a quiet, shaky voice Enjolras recounted the night of the art exhibit and the walk home with Courfeyrac afterwards. (“Ah, yes, the loud-mouthed arsehole” Grantaire recalled, frowning.) He talked about how he’d revealed his feelings for Grantaire, indefinable and uncertain as they were. He talked about the promise he’d forced Courf to make on pain of death and how Courf swore he would keep the secret. (“He swore on his grandmother’s grave, R!”) And he talked about how earlier today, in a moment of youthful carelessness, that sacred trust had been so spectacularly shattered. Grantaire sat quietly, listening intently, rubbing slow circles on Enjolras’ back and trying hard to resist the overwhelming urge to grab him and kiss him breathless because, well, now just didn’t seem like the right time. Seeing his young Apollo in tears and devastated this way quite nearly broke Grantaire’s own heart. He wanted to track down that loud-mouthed jackass and give him a pounding. Mostly he hated the very thought that it was he himself who might’ve been the cause of all this upset.  Yet he couldn’t quite understand why Enjolras seemed so adamant about keeping his feelings for Grantaire hidden from his friends, a secret to be guarded. Enjolras seemed to be reading his thoughts.

“I’m not ashamed of you, R…of this….of us…” he said in a near whisper.

Grantaire noiselessly released the breath he’d been subconsciously holding.  

“It’s just that, well, I’m a very private person” Enjolras started.

Grantaire nodded, encouraged him to go on.

“I’ve never really been the relationship type, you know? I’ve always been much more concerned with how to make the world a better place, how to protect the environment and conserve our natural resources for future generations, how to establish more enlightened societies where there would be more equitable treatment for all people, especially the underprivileged and disenfranchised. That has been my only love, my one true passion for as long as I can remember.”

Enjolras paused here to look at Grantaire, trying to gauge his reaction. Coming from anybody else, Grantaire would’ve likely smirked, laughed derisively and said “You are right off your nut, mate!” But it was Enjolras and so all Grantaire could see was the fire that began to creep into those beautiful blue eyes as he spoke about his desire to build a more just and verdant world.

“I started a club”, Enjolras continued, “an activist group really, when I was about 14. There were so many things I wanted to raise awareness about, you know?”

Again Grantaire just nodded, waited for him to go on.

“So my best mates and I started going to rallies and protests as a group. We would hold up signs, pass out leaflets, gather signatures on petitions and the like. And it just grew from there. Now we organize our own protests, give speeches at rallies and have our own information table at events like the Cultural Diversity Awareness Day that’s coming up at your school.”

Grantaire couldn’t help smiling at the thought of this handsome young firebrand behind the podium, speaking to a crowd that would no doubt be mesmerized by his words, his enthusiasm, his zeal. Enjolras’ voice broke into his thoughts.

“So this has been my cause, my purpose, my whole life really. It’s all I’ve ever truly cared about…till now…till you…”

Enjolras paused, looked at the floor and instantly began to feel quite nervous and uncertain. Grantaire gently lifted the boys’ chin with his finger, bringing them eye to eye once more. As it had that day in the garden, the air in the room fairly crackled with electricity. Enjolras suddenly felt very, very warm and he knew it wasn’t just the fire still burning in the woodstove. He leaned in close to Grantaire, closed his eyes and waited, hoping the invitation he was sending would be received…and welcomed. He didn’t have to wait long for a reply to his silent RSVP. Grantaire cupped his hand softly against Enjolras’ flushed, alabaster cheek. He entwined his rough but gentle fingers with Enjolras’ delicate ones, rested their clasped hands against his own heart and kissed the boy with all the tender sweetness he could muster. This wasn’t the right moment for ferocity and salaciousness. Grantaire understood this. Enjolras was hurting, scared, confused. He had come to Grantaire for comfort, trusted him with his raw pain and vulnerability. He wouldn’t, couldn’t exploit that, not for anything, no matter how deeply his own desire burned.

They stayed this way a while, close together, fingers entwined, foreheads resting lightly against each other’s. Grantaire’s free hand still rubbed calming circles on Enjolras’ back and shoulders till he felt the boy finally relax into his touch. Pretty soon, a curly head was nestled into the space between Grantaire’s neck and shoulder. The artist leaned back against the old sofa cushions, gently pulling Enjolras back with him.

“I still don’t know what to tell the boys, R. For once I’m just not sure what to say or do in the situation. I’m not used to that. I’m their leader, you know? They always look to me.”

His voice was barely audible, his warm breath ghosting softly against Grantaire’s neck as he spoke. (“Focus, R. Focus.”, the artist repeated silently to himself.) 

“How about you just let it go for tonight, yeah? Try to relax, get a little bit of distance from it. We’ll figure it all out together, Apollo, I promise.”

Enjolras stayed silent but his body relaxed noticeably against Grantaire’s side. ‘Taire took this non-verbal response as an acceptance of his assurances that somehow it would all work out just fine.

After a long silence Enjolras mumbled softly, “ ‘S nice here. Can I stay?”

Grantaire’s heart leapt at the idea while his stomach once again fell promptly into his crotch. Then he heard a strange voice speaking to Enjolras.

“Won’t your father be worried if you don’t come home?” (“Where the bloody hell did that come from?” he wondered.)

“Nah”, came the sleepy reply. “He and mum are out of town for a few days on business and my cousin Cosette is staying with Pip. Pleeeeze, R, can’t I stay, just for tonight?”

The sleep-filled blue eyes and crooked grin that met his gaze then were all Grantaire needed to see. In that moment he would have given Enjolras anything he asked for. He could offer no more resistance.  “As you wish then, my young Apollo. As you wish.”

Grantaire adjusted the old cushions once more, settled the two of them a bit more comfortably, then reached behind him for the threadbare quilt he kept draped over the back of the sofa. He covered them both and carefully reached up to turn off the lamp light. Grantaire watched the flicker of flame still dancing in the woodstove. Gazing down at Enjolras he was stunned once more by his ethereal beauty, especially in the low glow of the fire’s last light. He leaned down to press a tender kiss against the sleeping boy’s temple. His own eyelids were drooping then and it was just a few moments later that Grantaire joined his Apollo in a warm and peaceful sleep.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Courf have a little heart to heart...

 

Courf felt an involuntary shudder run through him when he got the text from Enjolras a few days after the now infamous incident at the café. Enjolras was requesting a meeting- a _private_ meeting- with Courfeyrac after school that very day in one of the small study rooms at the library.

“At least it’s in a public place” offered Combeferre. “Enj is much less likely to murder you with a lot of witnesses around.”

“Thanks, Ferre. That’s very reassuring” Courf replied, not at all convinced by his friend’s calm logic.

Courf wasn’t at all certain that Enjolras would be deterred by something as trivial as witnesses if he were still in a murderous rage. They hadn’t even spoken a word to each other since the incident which had proven quite uncomfortable since they had several classes in common.

The day seemed interminably long. When they were finally sat facing each other it looked for a while like it might end up being just a staring contest, albeit a very tense one. Then suddenly they both spoke at once.

“I’m so sorry Enj” blurted Courf.

“How could you Courf?” demanded Enjolras.

Then they were back to the staring again until Enjolras broke the silence.

“You go first” he said calmly to his Center who looked as though he was terrified to even try opening his mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing- again.

Courf started tentatively.

“I don’t know ‘Jolras, it just slipped out. I just wasn’t thinking. I’m so, so sorry. You have no idea how terrible I feel about the whole thing. If I could take it back, I would do it in a minute! You trusted me and I know I let you down in a pretty big way. I’d understand if you couldn’t forgive me for that. But I’d be really sad if you didn’t want to be friends anymore. We’ve been friends forever! I’ll even quit Les Amis if you want me to. Please, please forgive me Enj. I know I can be such a horse’s ass sometimes.”

Courfeyrac was still wringing his hands when he finished speaking. He stared at the floor, afraid to look up and meet his leader’s eyes, not knowing what they would hold.

Enjolras spoke next, quietly at first and with a detached coolness in his voice that made Courf shiver inside.

“I still cannot believe you did that Courf. I trusted you!” (The use of the past tense wasn’t lost on the brunette.)  “You know me! You know I don’t talk about things like that, really personal things, especially relationships, like almost never!! Grantaire is the first person I’ve ever felt this way about and it’s plenty scary enough without you running your mouth about it to practically everyone we know!” (Here the volume of his voice began to increase.) “That was such a dick move, Courf! You embarrassed me in front of the group. It made me feel like I’d never be able to lead them effectively again and you know damn well how important the work we do is to me, how much it means. What if this…this….bullshit” (He practically spat the word) “causes me to lose their respect? What would I do? I don’t think I could live with that Courf!”

Courf had been silent (wisely), listening to Enjolras’ side of this mess and feeling more and more like he (Courf) might truly be **_the_** most horrible person alive. But at the statement about losing the group’s respect, he was compelled to interrupt his best friend’s rant, the consequences be damned.

“NO Enj, NO!!” Courf said urgently with such a mix of tumult and fervency in his voice that it forced Enjolras to meet his friend’s eyes for the first time in a while.

“You could NEVER lose our respect, not any one of us, not ever, not for any reason, no matter what happens!!”

Courf spoke with a fierce insistence, desperate to make his leader understand him, **_believe_** him. A look that was one of both relief but also defeat crossed Enjolras’ handsome face as an uncomfortable silence filled the space between them once again. Enjolras was the one to finally break the stalemate.

“I know you didn’t mean it Courf. I don’t hate you. I mean yeah, you’re a real jerk sometimes for sure, but I don’t think you’d ever be THAT big of a jerk.”

The faintest trace of a smile played at the corners of Enjolras’ mouth. Courf exhaled, probably for the first time since they’d begun talking. Enjolras reached over and laid a hand tentatively on his friend’s still slightly trembling shoulder.

“It’ll be ok Courf. It’ll just take some time I guess. I’m still not sure how I’ll face the boys again. What should I say? Or should I even say anything?”

Again he looked to his Center, hopeful but uncertain. Courf spoke quietly, choosing his words carefully, still unsure of the extent of his friend’s forgiveness.

“I’m pretty sure they all know it’s just best not to bring it up, Enj. Don’t worry. They’ll respect your privacy, just as I should have done. And you’ll say what you need to say when you’re ready to say it and to whom, yeah? Till then, it’s no one’s business. So let’s just carry on with all the important stuff that needs to get done and try to leave this mess behind us, quickly and quietly. What do you say?”

“You’re right, mate” Enjolras nodded in agreement, slightly surprised at the wisdom and maturity in Courf’s words. Wise man or wise guy….one just never knew with Courfeyrac.

“But you know, Enjy, if things _do_ get serious with you and Grantaire”, Courf started in his almost normal “I’m obnoxious but you know you love me” voice, “ he’s still gonna have to submit to the full screening and approval process before the whole committee.”

A book winged past his head close enough that the breeze ruffled his brown curls on one side.

“Don’t push it Courf!”  Enjolras growled while trying to hide a rapidly spreading grin. “You’re not out of the woods just yet, mate! Oh, the favors you’re gonna owe me….”

Then Enjolras, sporting a slightly devilish grin of his own, slapped Courf playfully on the back and said “Let’s go get dinner and a coffee, yeah? I’m bloody starving!”

They walked out of the library together then, friends once more, much to the relief of both boys. They both knew there would be repair work yet to be done on their relationship. But at that moment it seemed there could be no force on earth powerful enough to destroy the bond they’d forged together over those last 10 years of friendship; Friends for life. Friends forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, I really appreciate any and all positive comments and constructive feedback. The comments especially help to motivate me with the writing. I thank you all so much for reading and taking the time to say you liked it! Chapter 10 coming soon.... I hope!! ;-)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Grantaire meets the Amis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuses for the delay. I'm just a horrible person...

 

The Les Amis meeting that afternoon was the first since the dust-up between Courf and Enjolras. When Enjolras first walked in there had been a brief but still noticeably awkward silence, a slight tension hanging in the air. But when Enjolras called the meeting to order, it was all business from that point on. The Cultural Diversity Awareness Day event was tomorrow. Enjolras had a speech that needed fine-tuning and for that he looked to Combeferre. Marius was the logistics guy and coordinator who went between the group and wherever they were planning to rally, table or speak. There were information handouts to be written up and posters to be designed. That task went to Jehan, the group’s resident artiste, along with a little help from Enjolras’ cousin Cosette who had volunteered to help out. Joly and Bossuet would be circulating a petition to get the university to change its policy on granting benefits to the partners of employees in same sex relationships. Courf would be the one holding down the table itself, talking to people who stopped by, doing outreach and education, and trying to recruit new members to their little group. Outgoing, friendly and charismatic as he was, it seemed a natural task for him. Marius would be there for relief and backup. Enjolras would deliver the main address, coming on right after the big wigs of course, the university’s ‘talking heads’ as he referred to them. Those bloated bastards _always_ went first.

On this particular afternoon Courf was just pleased that he even HAD a role to play in the tomorrow’s event and so he went about performing his duties with good-natured cheer and a brilliant smile almost constantly present on his handsome young face.   The usual laughter and banter filled the room as everyone worked intently on the final preparations. So no one really noticed the scruffy looking boy with the raven curls who had entered the room at some point. He was standing beside Enjolras and they were having a quiet conversation by the café’s back door. They looked happy, smiling and laughing and, oh my God, was Enjolras actually blushing??! Courfeyrac was of course the only person in the room (besides Enjolras and the dark-haired stranger) who knew that person’s identity, but Courf had learned his lesson the hard way so he just kept quiet and pretended he hadn’t seen anything. Enjolras voice suddenly filled the room.

“Alright then, listen up. This is Grantaire but he answers to R. He’s come to lend us his expertise with graphics work and sign painting so make him feel at home. Introduce yourselves but let’s all stay on track, yeah? We still have a lot left to do before tomorrow.”

Naturally Courf was the first to approach the newcomer who by now was no stranger to him. Grantaire cringed slightly when he saw Courf moving in his direction.

“Hello R! And welcome to our band of merry men. We may be few but we are still a force to be reckoned with!”

“Guvnor”, R said, lightly bowing his head in Courf’s direction. “How lovely to see you again. I trust I can actually be of service to your little group without too much of your bedevilment?”

“Bedevilment, sir?! _Moi?_ You wound me!” Courf gasped in mock horror, clutching his chest for a more dramatic effect.

Grantaire chuckled, held out his hand to boy he’d only known as the loudmouthed arsehole.

“I’m Grantaire, most folks just call me R.”

“Courfeyrac”, said Courf, shaking the hand R had extended to him. “Everyone calls me Courf.”

“Oh, I’m sure people must have many other names in mind for you, Guvnor” R said, smiling wickedly.

“Touché, sir.” Courf replied.

“I think you and I shall get along just fine then”, R replied.

“Quite likely”, Courf said, smiling.

But Courf suddenly closed the polite gap between himself and the newcomer, tightened his grasp on the boy’s hand, lowered his voice and spoke almost directly into Grantaire’s ear.

“We’ll all get on fine together as long as you understand this one little thing. We Amis are quite fond and protective of Enjolras. We love him. He is not only our leader but also like a brother to us all. Should you hurt him in _any_ way, just remember- we have a gun, a shovel and an alibi.”

Then Courf released R’s hand, gave him one last friendly smile and went back to his work.

_‘So he knows’_ , Grantaire mused silently. _‘Wonder if the others do too? Well, no matter. Enjolras invited me to come and help out, so here I am.’_

R wandered over to where Jehan and Cosette were working on signs and introduced himself to both of them.

“Welcome!” Jehan greeted him brightly, moving over slightly so R could sit next to him. Across the table Cosette looked up, smiled shyly at Grantaire and said “Hello”.

“Hi, I’m R. Nice to meet you both. So what are we working on today?”

“There’s a really big diversity event at your school tomorrow, R! Have you heard about it?” Jehan fairly beamed with excitement.

“Oh, maybe a bit here and there. But I don’t really get involved too much with those sorts of things. Not really my shtick, you know?”

Jehan’s eyes widened in shock and the smile vanished from his face. He suddenly looked as if someone had just viciously killed his kitten.

“You don’t believe in working for change, R? You don’t think bettering the world and the lives of others is a worthy enough cause?”

Jehan seemed utterly horrified and in complete disbelief at the idea that anyone might truly feel that way, especially someone who was friends with Enjolras. How was that even possible?

“Just call me jaded, young sir. I have seen too much to believe that any good will come of waving signs and giving speeches. And I’m not even sure humanity is deserving of the effort.”

“Then why are you even here, R?” Jehan asked guileless.

“I love Art and I’m a halfway decent painter and photographer. And besides, Enjolras invited me” Grantaire shrugged carelessly, a slightly sarcastic smirk playing at his lips. 

“Well then” Jehan said slowly, thoughtfully, “I guess if you really want to help, we could definitely use your skills right now.”

“Then point me in the direction of your art supplies my good lad, if you would be so kind” Grantaire said as he gave Jehan his best bow and flourish.

Jehan flashed Grantaire an awkward smile and said “You know, R, you’re probably just weird enough to fit perfectly in our little organization. Just don’t harm our Enjolras in any way. Then you’ll have the whole lot of us at you for sure. Trust me, you really don’t want that.”

“I’m beginning to get that impression” Grantaire replied softly.

It was clear, crystal clear actually, that Enjolras meant something very special to these young people. He wasn’t just their leader or their friend. They **_loved_** him, quite fiercely it seemed.

“Little do they know” Grantaire mumbled under his breath, knowing he would likely be the first one in line to get between Enjolras and anyone or anything that would cause him pain or sorrow.

Though they were still so new together, Grantaire already knew for certain that he loved Enjolras with that same kind of fierceness and devotion. At least he had that much in common with these wide-eyed young idealists.

Grantaire smiled to himself as he picked up the paint brush and begin an outline on the foam core poster board Jehan had given him. “Maybe that’s not such a bad place to begin.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more E/R next chapter, promise! Please please please take a minute and share your thoughts and feedback with me. I am always grateful for constructive criticism and shameless praise.... I like cookies too....


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire meets the family in the gardens for their portrait day setting. Later, he and Enjolras meet in a more 'private' setting... no photography was involved...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some E/R that will hopefully make all my readers smile... or at least leer a bit! I do what I can, follks...

 

Chapter 11

 The day of the family sitting had finally arrived and Enjolras was waiting by the door, beaming when Grantaire arrived at the stately home with all his fancy photographic equipment in tow.  They were going to set up in the garden for the photograph from which Grantaire would create the painting, a formal portrait of Enjolras’ family. The idea had been Enjolras’ and the young boy was eager to offer his assistance with the preparations. (Of course his eagerness had nothing at all to do with the handsome, slightly older photographer, he with the messy mop of raven curls. No, nothing whatsoever… really...)

Grantaire accepted the boy’s assistance almost as eagerly. (This of course had nothing at all to do with the angelic young face and statuesque beauty of the curly blonde haired boy beside him. No, nothing whatsoever…really…) 

When they arrived in the garden they deposited the bulky gear and quickly slipped off to the secluded grotto where only a short time ago they’d shared their first kiss. This time it was Enjolras who grabbed Grantaire by the lapels, pulled him flush against his chest and kissed him breathless. Grantaire for his part offered no resistance.

When they pulled apart, Grantaire gently cupped the sides of Enjolras’ face, smiling at him, his blue eyes alight.

“You were brilliant the day you spoke at my school, Enj. I couldn't take my eyes off you, you know? Every photograph I took that day seemed to have you in it. You were mesmerizing when you spoke. And beautiful too. I bet that crowd would have followed you anywhere, Apollo. I know I would have.”

Enjolras smiled but looked away quickly, blushing furiously, his face almost the same shade of red as his favorite jacket.   

“You’re beautiful when you blush too” Grantaire said softly, pressing a tender kiss to Enjolras’ alabaster forehead.

Enjolras kissed him back, though quickly this time, even a bit nervously.

“We better get to work, R. Don’t need anyone walking up on us here.”

“As you wish, my young Apollo”, Grantaire bowed low, still smiling. “After all, I’m here at _your_ service.”

They went about setting up the equipment in the place the family had chosen for their photo. The beauty of the formal gardens would make for a lovely backdrop.

When the family had arrived and everyone had been positioned in their assigned location, even Sir Edward, the family dog, Grantaire’s camera shutter began clicking rapidly. The camera lens itself seemed to come alive, studying each and every detail of the family seated there; each glance, each facial expression, each movement, each slight shift in light or shadow caused by the movement of the sun and clouds above them, none of it went unnoticed. Naturally Grantaire’s camera seemed to find Enjolras most often, settling there on the blonde boy’s face, drawn to his bright and shining countenance as surely as a moth to the flame.

Grantaire became momentarily lost in a singular thought, and that thought was how much he would like to see that face every day for the rest of his life, how nothing or no one could ever make him happier. When the pure happiness of that one thought drifted unawares from his mind to regions farther south, that niggling voice in his head quickly refocused his lens AND his attention to the task at hand.

_‘C’mon R, keep it together, mate. This is a **family friendly** portrait after all.’ _

“Right, well I think we’re about done here” Grantaire said, looking up from the camera, smiling at the family. “We've got some very lovely shots to work with.”

The elder Enjolras walked over to Grantaire, extended his hand to the young artist. Grantaire accepted the proffered hand and Mr. Enjolras shook it firmly.

“Fine job, young man” he said smiling. “Very professional work. Quite impressive, I’d say.  I’ll be anxious to see the results of today’s session. Now who has the final say in which photo becomes the ‘official’ one?”

Grantaire knew he’d need to tread lightly here since the old man liked to be in charge of everything, all the time. He opted for the diplomatic approach.

“Well sir, since I believe this portrait is meant to be a gift from your son, he may want to choose the photo he likes best. But I will let you two work that bit out between yourselves. Today I’m just the bloke behind the camera.”

Mr. Enjolras laughed loudly, releasing Grantaire’s hand at last.

 “I like your style, Grantaire. I find your frankness and honesty quite refreshing! That approach will go a long way toward helping you find success in whatever you decide to do with your future.”

“Thank you sir”, Grantaire replied. “I certainly hope so. It’s the only way I really know how to be.”

“Right then. Well, carry on” the elder Enjolras said as he moved in the direction of the house, effectively dismissing Grantaire but in a congenial manner.

Grantaire took the cue, nodded politely at the older man then moved off and began breaking down his equipment, packing it safely away in its protective casing for the short trip back to his studio. He hadn't even noticed Enjolras sneaking up on him till he felt the boys’ delicate arms encircling him from behind, wrapping around his middle and holding him there in a tender embrace.

Then there was a warm, soft breath tickling his ear as Enjolras whispered to him.

“Come back to the house with me, ‘Taire. I want to show you my room.”

Grantaire started to respond. “Didn't I see your room when….. “  

But when the arms around him tightened purposefully, Grantaire paused for a moment, turned to face Enjolras, snaked his own arms tightly around the blonde boy and, looking into his eyes, squeezed him back meaningfully.

“Why yes, of course! I would _love_ to see your room, Apollo. Don’t believe I've had the privilege yet.”

Enjolras smiled brightly at him, trying to wink suggestively but not quite succeeding. Grantaire thought he’d never seen anything so adorable in all his life.

Just as the earlier thought of seeing Enjolras’ face every day for a lifetime had caused Grantaire’s happiness to drift from his brain to his nether regions, this sudden and unexpected invitation to ‘see Enjolas’ room’ was now causing a similar response, one he wasn't certain he could ‘keep under wraps’ as it were.

“Let’s get this gear back to my car flat-out then, shall we?” Grantaire said, reluctantly releasing his hold on Enjolras.

“Right” he replied, grabbing a large, soft sided duffle bag and a heavy plastic case.

 ‘Oi, puny doesn't mean powerless!’ Enjolras admonished the bigger boy when he'd moved to take charge of the heavier gear.

 Grantaire backed off. He was quickly reminded of the ferocity he’d heard in the tone of Enjolras’ speech delivered at the school event. Definitely a force to be reckoned with, that boy.

With all the gear now stowed safely away in the boot of the car the two boys headed for the main house together, once again keeping a polite distance between them as they walked. (Running would probably be too obvious… wouldn't it?)

There was no one in sight as they entered the house through the main foyer. This was all the impetus Enjolras needed to grab Grantaire by the hand and practically drag him up the stairs to his bedroom on the second floor. It was in a quiet corner of the grand home’s east wing and Grantaire noticed all the light pouring through the tall windows as they dashed through the cool marble hallways. There was a sudden stop, a momentary pause, then Enjolras was pulling Grantaire through an open doorway and into his room. The door closed firmly behind them as they tumbled gracelessly into the middle of the room. Lips and arms entangled, they fell headlong in the general direction of Enjolras' bed. 

“Enj wait, shouldn't we at least….”

Whatever Grantaire was about to say next was abruptly cut off, then lost for good in the crashing of Enjolras’ mouth against his own. There was nothing at all soft, tender or tentative about this whole action. It was almost violent in its desperation, full of untamed passion, raw need, fierce hunger and unbridled desire.

This was a wild river that no sand-bagged levee could ever hope to contain. And Grantaire could think of no better way to go than to give himself over to its raging waters. So he simply let go and prepared to be swept away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got a job after over a year of being unemployed. My new job will be working as a staff writer/reporter for a small local weekly. Hopefully the new work isn't gonna totally kill my 'writing for fun'. (Well part fun, part twisted desire...) PLEASE keep the lovely comments and concrit coming. It's very much appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from very sweet to terribly sour in record time and, no, for once it's not these two idiots mucking up the works! But give it time, oh faithful readers, we'll get to that bit later!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry... I offer no excuses for the egregiously long wait....

 

**Chapter 12**

The two boys lay quietly together, still a bit shagged out from their first eager and passionate explorations of each other. Their clothes were disheveled and a few items of clothing had been cast here and there in their hurry to reach the bed. They were still mostly respectably covered though as they held each other close, talking, touching, kissing lazily, simply reveling in each other. The world outside Enjolras’ bedroom door had altogether ceased to exist for a beautiful, if entirely too brief time.

Then out of nowhere came a woman’s voice. It was as though she had just materialized in the hallway outside the door calling “Trystan! Are you in here Trystan? Your father wants…”

Before Grantaire could fully register the look of wide eyed terror on Enjolras’ face (or ask _'Who the hell is Trystan?'_ ) there was a hand on the doorknob, turning it…. And then…

“What in the holy name of Christ is going on in here, Trystan?!” his mother practically shrieked. “What has this bloody faggot done to you, son?! Hugo! Hugo!!” she was yelling madly now at top volume and Enjolras held his hands reflexively over his ears. It seemed as if perhaps this shouting business wasn't new to him at all.

Grantaire’s still slightly lust-addled brain registered that ‘Hugo’ was Enjolras’ father. He remembered that much from their first meeting in the old man’s office.

‘ _So then Enjolras must be Trystan’_ , he reasoned. _‘Or maybe Trystan is Enjolras?’_   He really couldn't be sure.

Then the yelling broke through his thoughts again, only this time it was directed at him.

“GET OUT YOU BLOODY POOFTER!! GET OUT OF HERE NOW BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!!”

The voice began to fade as Enjolras’ mother retreated down the hallway shouting for her husband. Grantaire turned to face Enjolras who was sitting there paralyzed with fear, hands still over his ears.

“Hey, hey, Enj. It’s OK. You’re OK", Grantaire spoke softly, gently prying the boy's hands away from his ears. "But I definitely gotta beat feet before your old man gets here. “

Grantaire wrapped his arms tenderly around the trembling boy. He smiled as he continued speaking, trying to keep his tone light, unworried.

“As I was about to say before I was so spectacularly cut off by those amazing lips of yours, _Trystan_ , shouldn't we at least lock the door?”

While the look on his face was fairly grim, still Enjolras managed a small chuckle and replied “I guess maybe I should have let you finish that sentence after all, yeah? And Trystan Sacha Enjolras is my full given name. _THEY_ love it. I hate it, so I never use it.”

Grantaire laughed lightly and kissed the younger boy’s forehead.

“No worries either way, young Apollo. But if there’s a back way out of this mansion, maybe you could help buy me some time to make good my escape?”

“Right…  RIGHT!”

Enjolras seemed to come fully aware as he suddenly swooped down, picked up the discarded clothes, made sure they were both decent and then opened the door, intending to make a break for it down the hallway opposite the direction his mother had run.

“There’s an old service elevator back this way” he said as he took Grantaire’s hand and ran with him. “I think they've both quite forgotten about. It goes to the basement and there’s a door to the outside from there.”

Once they were safely inside the small elevator, Enjolras pulled Grantaire to him, held him close and whispered in his ear. The fear in his small, quiet voice made Grantaire cringe inside.

“I’m scared, R. I don’t know what Father might do when he finds out! He has such an awful temper sometimes. Can’t I come with you?”

“You running now will only make this worse for both of us” Grantaire replied, thinking it sounded like the most mature and grown-up thing to say in the situation, though in reality he was entirely unsure what to do in the best interests of himself or the frightened boy in his arms.

When the elevator reached the musty old basement, Enjolras once again grabbed Grantaire’s hand and led him to the door that would lead him away, to safety.

“We may not be able to see each other for a few days, Enj, maybe longer. I don’t really know. But you know how to find me, right? “

Enjolras nodded, tears brimming through the terror in those beautiful blue eyes. Grantaire felt as though someone had driven a hot poker directly into his heart and left it there to smolder.

“If your dad does anything to hurt you, make you feel scared or unsafe then you come to me straightaway, do you understand? My studio may not be safe because the address is on my business card. But I’ll meet you at the café or at the art gallery on campus. We can go to my apartment from there. My roommates won’t mind, OK?”

Enjolras nodded again, tears spilling over freely now. He held Grantaire tightly and kissed him one more time, then released him and pointed out the path that would lead him quickly away from the house and out to the driveway.  They both hoped silently that the angry parents were too busy searching the house for them to have bothered about the car still parked in the drive.  It was their lucky day as it turned out, at least in THAT regard. Grantaire looked back one painful last time at his Apollo, then turned and ran for the car. He had never been a believer in any higher force but nonetheless he looked skyward and whispered, “If anyone’s listening, please keep him safe.”

After Grantaire was gone from  his sight, Enjolras decided, quite wisely, it was probably best not to return to his room just then. Father and Mother were sure to be there waiting and furious. There were so many good hiding places in a house this huge and many more on the grounds outside. But there was only one place he could think of being, the one place he knew he would feel safest- the hidden grotto in the formal gardens. Though he was barefoot and had no jacket, he ran through the damp grass and chilly evening air till he was sat on the stone bench, _their_ bench. The peaceful music of the water falling behind him slowly replaced the sound of his mother’s angry screams still ringing painfully in his ears. He pulled his knees up tight to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, making himself as small as possible. It made him feel less chilly too, though he knew the trembling was due more to fear than cold. He longed for the reassuring warmth of Grantaire’s arms around him. The mere thought of it made him weep all over again.

 _‘You great bloody idiot!’_ he chastised himself as his tears fell silently. _‘You should have thought yourself to lock that door! You KNOW how Mother is always walking in unannounced as if you were still 8 years old! She NEVER knocks first! Well, no matter. I bet she’ll think to knock from now on though!’_

That last thought brought a faint smile to his face. He was quite certain though that he would never again make the mistake of leaving his door unlocked, no matter what reckless urges might be driving him. He almost wished he’d seen her horrified expression, like a fish on land, eyes wide and mouth gaping as it struggles for air. That image actually made him laugh out loud. He quickly put a hand over his mouth to stifle himself, not wishing to give away this hiding spot should his parents be out looking for him on the grounds. He was grateful that he’d never mentioned this special place to Pippa, his beloved little sister, never told her how much he enjoyed coming here to think, write or simply listen to the music of the birds and the water.  He began to relax a bit then and moved to adjust his position on the small, stone bench. Suddenly he felt something sharp in his pocket, something hard and unyielding.

 _‘Could it be?’_ he wondered, hoping against hope. _‘Oh please, oh please let it be...’_ He wasn't certain to whom or what he was directing this rather desperate supplication. He barely allowed himself a breath as he reached into the offending pocket and pulled out… _‘Oh THANK YOU!’_ he exhaled and spoke all at once as he held the miraculously appeared mobile phone in his hands. _‘Thank you!’_ He pressed down and held the #2 button on his keypad and waited for an answer on the other end.

“Speak!” the voice said brightly.

“It’s me, Courf. I’m in big, big trouble, mate. Can you come and get me? Now?”

“On my way!” was all the response Enjolras got before the line went silent again. Then he placed the phone back in his pocket and made his way slowly, cautiously to the tree line beside the long driveway where he knew his friend would know to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know what you think!! Concrit, comments and cookies all equally welcome... and equally powerful motivating factors when it comes to cranking out the next chapter...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courf to the rescue! (Oh yeah, and 'Taire gets hammered and passes out...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night must be some kind of record for me. I'm on a ROLL! I hope as always that you'll find it worth reading...

 

**Chapter 13**

 

Grantaire hardly slept at all that night, returning to his apartment after narrowly making his escape from the Enjolras estate. In truth, he would have much preferred the quiet and privacy of his workshop, just sitting in front of the wood stove on the comfy old sofa where not so very long ago they had slept beside each other, safe and warm. Grantaire could almost feel the warmth of Enjolras’ body against his skin. But if it turned out that Enjolras needed him, then this was where he should be waiting.

 _‘What have I done?’_ he berated himself silently. _‘What if he gets hurt and it’s because of me? Because I was too stupid, too eager, too reckless…. too much **in love** to think more clearly. I will never forgive myself. I should have been the adult. I should have done everything in my power to protect him from this. Couldn’t blame the kid if he never wanted to see me again.’ _

That last thought felt exactly like a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus, a pain with which he was intimately acquainted, harkening back to his MMA days. He almost felt the oomph of the air leaving his body suddenly and violently. He reached into the cabinet beneath his night stand and pulled out a brand new bottle of FECKiN Irish Whiskey.  

 _‘No need for a glass on a night like this’_ he mused darkly.

So he broke the seal, twisted off the cap and took a long pull. His mind quieted and his thoughts came more into focus as he felt the comforting, familiar burn make its way down his throat and into his chest. But as anger, fear and guilt continued to rise up inside him, competing for space in his mind and, at times, threatening to take it over completely, he answered it with longer, deeper pulls from the bottle cradled in his arm. What if Enjolras called, needing him? What if he didn’t?  He wondered vaguely if one bottle would be enough to see him through this night. Then the darkness claimed him and he had his answer.  

 

Courfeyrac came cruising up the long dark driveway with no headlights on, something he had done on many occasions, keeping the engine running, waiting for Enjolras to emerge from the tree line and jump in. Then he would go back down the driveway in reverse, not turning the headlights on till they were safely out in the roadway.  On this occasion, Courf was mildly alarmed at his friend’s disheveled, panicked, terrorized state. He kept silent (not an easy feat for a loudmouth arsehole!) and waited for Enjolras to speak. In Les Amis , Enjolras was undisputedly the fearless leader. Tonight Enjolras was just a frightened young boy who needed the solace and support that could only come from one of his closest friends.

Enjolras opened his mouth and the words rushed out like pent-up water through a broken dam, tumbling wildly over themselves in the rush to find release.

“She walked in on us, Courf. I don’t even know how much she saw, really. We weren’t _doing it_ , you know, not really. It was more like making out, but maybe a little more than that. We should have thought to lock the door but I was in such a hurry, and then she was there all of a sudden, screaming and screaming. She called him a faggot, Courf! And she even threatened to call the police. She was yelling so loud for Father it hurt my ears. And then she left to find him and we escaped. I showed him the old service elevator and he got away ok, I think. I watched him leave. Then I just ran, Courf. I ran to the gardens and hid. Then I found my phone. It was in my pocket, I don’t even know how it got there, but then I called you and you came. Thank you Courf. Thank you for coming for me. I can’t deal with them right now, especially Father. You know. You’ve seen how he gets.”

Enjolras paused here for a moment, needing to breathe. After several seconds, though his chest was still heaving, he seemed poised to start again. Courf raised a hand, wordlessly but firmly cutting him off.

“Breathe, Enjolras. Just breathe”, said Courf in a voice that was low and calm. “The last thing we need is for you to have another one of your panic attacks where you land in the Emergency Department and they have to call your parents because you’re still a minor.  You don’t want that now, do you?”

It was a rhetorical question of course. Courfeyrac knew that would be the very LAST thing Enjolras wanted given the circumstances. Courf wasn’t even 100% sure what the ‘circumstances’ _were_. He’d gotten the gist of it but there were a lot of blanks yet to be filled in. In time, Courf knew. They would be in time. They’d been through this sort of thing together many, many times. Courf was one of the few people in Enjolras’ life who knew the extent of Hugo’s temper. He’d seen his friend at school, sporting bruises, the occasional split lip or bloody nose.  It seemed that when something set the old man off, his ‘golden boy’ became a convenient punching bag whether or not it had anything to do with his son. So despite all appearances to the contrary, Courf knew that Hugo Enjolras was not a nice man.  The chaotic scenario that Enjolras had attempted to describe would definitely be enough to trigger the old man’s temper. Just imagining his son as a bloody poofter might send the father into a murderous rage.  For now all Courfeyrac could do was keep his friend safe, calm and out of sight, waiting till things blew over a bit. They’d just have to make the rest up as they went.  Courf reflected for a moment though on how relieved he was to still have Enjolras’ confidence, even in the aftermath of the great debacle at the café.

Enjolras and Courf sat together in the latter’s room, reading, sipping tea and listening to soft music. Enjolras liked classical music, very much in fact.  He especially loved Antonin Dvorak and Aaron Copeland.  Their works in particular seemed to calm him more effectively than any of the medicines they’d ever given him for his anxiety and panic disorders. So they sat in silence as the soft strains of Dvorak’s 9th Symphony, _From The New World,_ filled Courf’s small but cozy bedroom _._ Enjolras really loved the idea that the American astronaut Neil Armstrong had taken a recording of this symphony into space with him during the Apollo 11 mission, the first lunar landing, in 1969.

Courf would never know if it was the tea, the music, or the temporary sense of safety that had done the trick, but when he looked up from the book he’d been reading, he saw that Enjolras had fallen fast asleep, tea cup still in hand, in the big recliner that faced the picture window. Courf always marveled at how much younger his friend looked when he slept. Tonight he was just happy for the peaceful expression on his friend’s handsome face.  He took the tea cup carefully from his friend's hands, lightly covered the sleeping boy with a warm blanket, bent down to press a gentle kiss to the soft golden curls, then crawled into his own bed and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep me posted on what you like, what you hate, what works and what doesn't. I gotta do right by these boys after all....


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Courf isn't being an idiot, he is really a true friend. And Enjolras could really use one of those right about now... (And Grantaire is mostly just trying not to throw up...)

 

Chapter 14

 

Grantaire awoke the next morning with a terrible pounding in his head and a roiling sensation in his stomach, both of which he quickly attributed to the empty whiskey bottle lying on the floor beside his bed. The turbulence in his mind was still there though so his attempt to drown it with drink had clearly been for naught. The pain in his heart was another matter entirely. He knew there would be no cure for that except perhaps being able to hold his young love in his arms once again, someplace where they both felt safe.

'I wonder how he is. Is he safe? Is he hurt? Does he still love me? Does he hate me?'

Grantaire was so deep in his brooding that he nearly missed the sound of his mobile phone vibrating on his nightstand. He stared at the screen blankly for a moment, not recognizing the phone number. Then he read the message.

_R, this is Courf. You know, Enjolras' friend, the loud-mouthed arsehole? Anyway, Enj is with me at my place. He's safe and doing alright. We've been through this drill before. He just wanted to know if you were ok. He's afraid his old man may try tracking his mobile so he's got it turned off for a bit. Just thought you'd want to know.' -C_

A million thoughts and just about as many questions were hurtling through Grantaire's brain as he read Courf's text, only adding to the hammering sensation he'd awoken with. Enjolras must not have been just overreacting when he said he was afraid of his father's temper and asked if he could leave with Grantaire. It wasn't an exaggeration. The boy clearly had something real to fear from the elder Enjolras. Grantaire was seething by now but he took a breath, hit reply and started typing, his hands trembling though he knew now it had little to do with the whiskey.

_'Thank you Courf. I do really appreciate this. Please tell him I'm very sorry and that I'll be right here if he needs me for **anything**. Tell him that I…Well, never mind. Thanks again.'  -R_

"Oi, I think your artist boy wants me to tell you he loves you, Enj!" Courf shouted across the room. "That's what the message sounded like anyway. But you know me mate, I'm not one to speculate about such things."

Enjolras was in the washroom preparing for the school day ahead. The door opened a bit and he stuck his head out, a quizzical look on his face and one eyebrow raised. (Courf never knew how he did that.) The blonde boy stared incredulously at his friend.

"You?! Valentin Courfeyrac? Not one to speculate about the affairs of others? Since bloody when?! And by the way, I need some clean boxers and a pair of trousers if you've got 'em. Being that you're so vertically challenged I suppose they’ll be quite short on me but I’m in no position to quibble about it, now am I?”

 Enjolras seemed to have quite deftly avoided any comment on the message Courf had just tried to deliver. Courf crossed the room to his chest of drawers, extracted the requested items, then threw them haphazardly in the direction of the washroom.

“Here you are then, smart ass. I hope you choke on them!”

Courf laughed lightly at the surprised look on Enjolras’ face. He simply delighted in always doing or saying the unexpected, then just waiting to see how his leader would react. It never got old. Besides being the Amis center, he was also without a doubt their comic relief.

Enjolras reached out into the room as far as he dared in his current state of undress and retrieved the borrowed items, calling out to Courfeyrac as he did so.

“You better be ready to go Courf! I do not want to be late for Professor Lamarque’s Politics and Government class. He will make an example of anyone who walks in one minute past time. And I am definitely not up to being anyone’s example today!”

He emerged from the washroom as he spoke, looking well groomed and rather dapper in his best friend’s clothes. Courf wondered briefly how Enjolras somehow always managed to attain this kind of near-perfection, even on his worst days. But then again, this was Enjolras, so just about anything seemed plausible.  The two boys gathered their books and headed out the door to school.  As they drove, Enjolras revisited the events of the previous day, performing a sort of mental debrief now that he was calmer and back in control of his emotions. He knew his mother’s panicked threats to involve the police were without merit. She and his father both knew quite well that their ’golden boy’ was fully aware of so much of the family’s ‘dirty laundry‘.  Father’s ongoing physical and emotional abuse of Enjolras was one of the smaller scale dirty little secrets that the boy might possibly expose to the authorities. Some others were so large as to have the potential to create such a raging inferno that the carefully crafted Enjolras’ empire would likely be reduced to ashes. Enjolras’ thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice from the driver’s seat.

“What are you going to do Enjy?” Courf asked gently. “You can’t hide from your rotten bastard of a father forever you know.”

“Then how about just till I’m 18?” Enjolras responded laughingly.

He found that thought more than a little appealing though if he were being honest. And Enjolras believed strongly in being honest.

“I really don’t know Courf”, he spoke more seriously this time. “You know I’m scared because he’s more than likely going to beat me senseless, then maybe throw me out or send me away to boarding school in Germany or to some mental hospital or something. I just don’t know. And that just makes me more scared.”

Courf put a comforting hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.  There were no words, no wisdom he could offer in this situation. He feared for his friend’s safety as he had many times before, yet somehow the boy had always come through it ok. Courf hoped with all his young heart that this would be just another one of those times.

After classes were over for the day, the two boys devised a plan to return to Enjolras’ home as furtively as possible to retrieve some of his personal belongings, school clothes and the like. It was decided that they’d go in the same way Grantaire had managed to escape, making it less likely anyone would see them. Courf would leave the car on the main road and they would follow the tree line leading to the basement entrance. It was the perfect plan. Or it would have been, but for the gardener who’d seen the two boys quickly crossing the lawn and went to alert the houseman who in turn alerted the patriarch who was laying in wait just inside his son’s room when Enjolras and Courfeyrac came bursting through the door.   


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras' true colors come shining through, all fierce, fiery and Apollo-like. And Hugo Enjolras shows his true colors too, which end up being a veritable rainbow of ugly. (And Courf is still a damn good friend to have when the chips are down...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's all over the place in this chapter for mentions of child abuse, homophobic remarks and insults, blood-spray and some generally ugly family violence. (But everyone's ok in the end, promise!)

 

Chapter 15

Enjolras and Courf skidded to a halt as they entered Enjolras’ bedroom and encountered Hugo, Enjolras’ very clearly displeased father. Hugo was set in a large wingback chair in the corner of the room. It appeared he’d been waiting there though the boys had no idea how he’d known they were coming.

“Father" Enjolras almost choked on the word as he said it. His blue eyes were wide, equal parts fear and surprise.

“Trystan” said Hugo with ice in his voice. “So glad to see you’re well, son. Mother and I were quite concerned.”

He made no attempt whatsoever to mask the complete lack of sincerity in his words.

Turning to Courf, Hugo said “Thank you for bringing my son home, Valentin. You may go now. Trystan and I have some things we need to discuss privately.”

“I’d rather Courf stay here with me, Father” Enjolras said, trying valiantly to stand his ground.

He reached for Courf’s hand and held on tight as if his friend were a lifeline, the very anchor the blonde boy so desperately needed if he were to stay afloat in these very rough waters. Then the elder Enjolras spoke again, eyes burning into Courfeyrac, the tone in his voice low and dangerous.

“Valentin, please leave immediately or I shall ask Luc and Remy to escort you to your car.”

Enjolras let go of Courf’s hand, not wishing to put him in jeopardy by insisting on his presence there. He looked at his friend and said

“It’s OK Courf. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yeah?”

“Alright then, Enj. If that’s what ** _you_** want”, Courf emphasized the ‘you’ as he looked purposely at Hugo.

Courf moved hesitantly to the doorway, turned and took one last glance at Enjolras who seemed riveted to his spot in the center of the floor. Enjolras met his eyes, nodded as if to reinforce his earlier assurance that he’d be alright. Then Courf pulled the door shut behind him and was gone, footsteps retreating down the marble hall.

“I suppose he’s one of those too?” Hugo asked mockingly, his upper lip curling into an ugly sneer.

“One of which exactly, Father?”

Enjolras stood upright, faced his father head on with a fierce defiance in his voice and fire in his eyes.  He had waited for this moment for years. Now it was here and he knew he was ready.

“You know goddamn well what I mean, Trystan” Hugo said, standing up slowly and moving as he prepared to square off with his only son. “A bugger. A fucking faggot. A poofter. An arse bandit. Shall I go on then?”

Hugo had spat his disgust with each epithet he’d rattled off.

“No, that won’t be necessary Father”, Enjolras said calmly. “But it **_is_** good to know that your unparalleled ignorance comes with such an extensive and colorful vocabulary.”

“How fucking dare you disrespect me, you arrogant little twat!” Hugo shouted as he struck his son soundly across the face creating a stinging red mark where the back of his hand had met with pale flesh.

Enjolras held his ground and kept his gaze fixed firmly on the older man’s face, not even so much as a glimmer of fear visible in his unflinching expression.

“Is that really the best you can do, Father?” Enjolras boldly challenged the patriarch. “Don’t know how to deal with something you don’t understand so you resort to violence? How sad for someone of your lofty social stature to be such a troglodyte in reality. Or maybe you’re worried. Maybe you’re afraid they’ll all wonder if perhaps I got it from you, like some recessive gay gene.”

The elder Enjolras had been pushed to his limit. He was not about to stand for this kind of impropriety from his own flesh and blood. He’d been provoked enough and now the boy would pay for his cheeky insolence. 

Hugo lunged at the youngster, wrapped both hands around his throat and began throttling him. Enjolras fought hard against his father, trying to pry the old man’s hands off his throat and kicking at him in an attempt to knock one (or both) legs out from under him.  When Enjolras finally got free of Hugo’s strangling grasp, he dropped to his knees gasping for air. Hugo took this opportunity to kick the boy viciously in his stomach and chest, knocking the wind out of him yet again. When Enjolras doubled over falling forward on the floor, Hugo stomped on his son’s back as hard as he cold, the sound of cracking ribs audible as it echoed off the cold stone walls.

Enjolras struggled to stand, unwilling to concede loss by laying broken at his father’s feet. He raised his face defiantly, daring to meet his elder’s eyes. His father took this opportunity to punch the boy ferociously between the eyes, breaking his nose and causing blood to spray everywhere, making the slick marble floor beneath their feet just that much more treacherous. Enjolras seized the tactical advantage and shoved his father hard, wincing in pain at the motion, then watched as the old man lost his balance and careened to the floor in a heap. When Hugo tried to stand up, Enjolras struck him across the head with his forearm and the elder man collapsed to the floor again, unconscious this time from the force of the blow.

The boy crumpled on the bed, drawing a few ragged and very painful breaths. Once he’d composed himself a bit, Enjolras began gathering his things and packing them into a small suitcase and a larger, old duffel bag. He took only what he needed- clothes, his laptop, some books and one or two personally meaningful items, like the stuffed tiger his nanny had given him on his 4th birthday when he was going through a tiger phase. He wanted nothing from his parents, nothing of theirs, no reminders whatsoever of where he was coming from. He wanted only to put this place, these people- especially _him_ \- in the rear view mirror and the sooner, the better.

Hugo started to moan and stir on the floor so Enjolras hit him again, this time with a book he’d happened to be holding. Both his eyes had started to swell shut from the punch to the bridge of his nose so he couldn’t see the title of the book clearly. But it felt solid as a brick in his hand and it got the job done quite neatly as Hugo stilled once more.

Enjolras shouldered his messenger bag and picked up his belongings, another painful hiss escaping through his teeth as he did so. He stepped carefully over his father making sure he was still out, then headed downstairs to the old man’s office. With no one in sight to disturb him, he went directly to the mantelpiece where he knew his father kept a hidden key to the filing cabinets. He’d often wondered why the liquor cabinet was open but the files were always locked up. But the more attention he’d paid to the goings on of the family business, the clearer the answer had become. Liquor could be replaced cheaply enough. But rebuilding an empire was another matter entirely.

 Enjolras crossed to the filing cabinets, unlocked them and removed a handful of select files which he placed carefully in his messenger bag. Then he locked the drawers back up again. Not wishing to linger too long, he paused to leave his father a brief, terse message.

_‘Father, leave me in peace to live my life on my terms and as I see fit and I will do the same for you. Disrespect this simple request and rest assured I can and will make the rest of your wretched existence even more miserable. **– TSE**_

_PS: Please tell Mother I’m sorry.’_

He folded the note then laid the filing cabinet key pointedly in the center of it, placing both items carefully on the desk blotter. Then he picked up his bags once again and headed out the main door. Once safely hidden behind tree line he pulled out his mobile, then pressed and held number 1 on the keypad. There was only one person he could think of that could help him make any sense of the nightmare he found himself in at present. He heard the warm, deep, blessedly familiar voice on the other end and he tried to keep his own voice from breaking at the sound.

“Hey ‘Ferre, it’s me. I need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More E/R (and more Combeferre too) coming up in the next chapter, I swear. Hang in with me faithful readers, we're getting there!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some Enjolferre bromance. Yup, this chapter is pretty much all about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some TW's still for mentions of child abuse and domestic violence. But everyone ends up ok, well, everyone that really matters anyway.

 

Chapter 16

 

Combeferre was more than a little unsettled by the sight of his friend and leader, bloody and disheveled, bruises blooming on his handsome face. He did his best however to keep that panicked feeling under control, comforting himself with the knowledge that at least now Enjolras would be ok, protected and safe in Combeferre’s keeping. He had waited for the other boy out on the road, just out of sight of the long driveway, not wishing to draw any attention to either of them. He saw through the trees how Enjolras was struggling painfully with his cases so ‘Ferre put the car in park and ran along behind the line of trees to help him. They needed to move fast, Combeferre realized, though Enjolras really hadn’t told him much on the phone. The sense of urgency in his friend’s voice made the message clear enough.

“Hey ‘Ferre. Thanks for coming” said Enjolras, struggling to breathe and move quickly while at the same time being in terrible pain.

“Like there was ever any doubt” said Combeferre, looking at his friend in his customary bemused way. “Now let’s get your things to the car and get you the hell out of here, shall we?”

Enjolras nodded his agreement, letting ‘Ferre take charge. Knowing that he was safe with Combeferre gave Enjolras permission to slip into the shocked numbness he hadn’t been able to afford till now. Like a small trusting child he allowed himself to be led. Combeferre noticed that the ‘thousand yard stare’ was already taking over and Enjolras’ eyes were becoming empty and unfocused.  ‘Ferre understood that this was all part of the shock and trauma that his friend had just experienced. All the more reason then that they needed to move quickly, to get Enjolras someplace where he could decompress in safety. 

Enjolras couldn’t really remember much but somehow they had gotten to Combeferre’s home and they were now moving his belongings into the guest room adjacent to his best friend’s room.  Then suddenly Combeferre’s mother was there with antiseptic spray, band-aids and some cold compresses for his eyes.

“Oh Trystan dear, I am so sorry this has happened to you” said Mrs. Combeferre. “If you decide to press charges, we’ll be happy to help you contact the police.”

At the mention of the police, Enjolras’ eyes grew wide with panic and fear. That was the LAST thing he needed right now. Combeferre saw the almost visceral reaction in his friend and placed a comforting hand on his arm, speaking softly to him.

“It’s ok Enj. No need to be afraid. Nothing will happen here without your consent, I promise you. Mother just wants to help you if she can. You understand that, right?”

Enjolras nodded, still staring blankly at a point somewhere in the distance. Mrs. Combeferre spoke quietly to her son.

“You’ll call for me if he needs anything, promise me Guy?”

“Yes Mother, of course. Thank you for letting him stay.”

‘Ferre kissed his mother softly on the cheek and she departed, leaving the two boys alone to sort things.

There was a prolonged silence where neither of them spoke a word. Enjolras sat stock still on the guest bed allowing ‘Ferre to tend to his cuts and bruises. He’d hiss occasionally if ‘Ferre touched a very tender spot, even once reaching up to grab his friend’s arm to get him to still his movements. ‘Ferre was so patient and understanding with his bruised leader. He gently uncurled Enjolras’ hand from his arm, placed it back in the blonde boy’s lap and promised him he’d try to be more careful.  After the injuries were attended to and Enjolras’ bloody, torn clothes had been removed in favor of some soft heather grey pajama bottoms and one of ‘Ferre’s old t-shirts, Mrs. Combeferre reappeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. She gave her son a quick, sad smile and retreated down the stairs again. Combeferre handed Enjolras a mug of steaming tea which the still shaken boy accepted in silence but with a grateful smile.

Combeferre settled down in the cozy, cushioned window seat of the guest room with his mug of tea and a book. He knew it might be awhile before Enjolras was ready to talk about everything. But when that time came, Combeferre would be right there, ready to listen. Enjolras placed his tea cup on the bedside table, stretched his long limbs out on the bed, whimpering a little as he did so, his body still hurting in several different places. He covered himself carefully with an old handmade quilt, worn but still serviceable. It smelled like home, he thought, like a real home _should_ smell. Then he was asleep, his Guide keeping loving vigil over him as he slumbered.

When Enjolras awoke again, the room was dark. He began to panic, uncertain how he’d gotten here, not even knowing where ‘here’ was. Enjolras cried out softly, in fear as well as in pain, thrashing about as if doing battle with the duvet that was now covering him. Suddenly Combeferre was there beside him, pulling his friend into a careful but tight, comforting embrace, whispering quiet assurances into the soft blonde curls, rocking him slowly as one would a small frightened child who had just awoken from a bad dream. When Enjolras blue eyes, still wide with fear, locked on Combeferre’s soft brown ones he stilled almost instantly. Relaxing into his friend’s embrace, Enjolras fisted his hands in ‘Ferre’s grey jumper, holding on tightly, desperately needing that closeness, that reassuring contact with this man he knew he could trust with his very life. Combeferre was more than a friend. He was a brother, a _true_ brother. 

“I think I killed him, ‘Ferre” said Enjolras, his voice shaking.

Combeferre understood that Enjolras was speaking of his father, Hugo. Combeferre knew from past experiences that while Enjolras’ father may have been admired publicly for being ‘self-made’ and for the empire that he’d built over time, his private persona was another matter entirely and there was nothing admirable about it. ‘Ferre knew about the beatings, the emotional abuse, the controlling behavior. He saw the toll that it sometimes took on his friend, the panic attacks, the night terrors, things that should never trouble one so young. Combeferre stood like a rock through it all, always providing a safe harbor when Enjolras needed one. And he’d never needed one quite so badly as he did at this moment.

“I’m sure you didn’t kill him, Enj”, whispered ‘Ferre as he stroked blonde curls. _‘Though the world would probably be a better place if you had’,_ he added under his breath. “Certainly the police would have been here looking for you by now if a murder had been committed, especially one so “high profile”. You know that, E. All you did was give that son of a bitch the right thrashing he’s had coming for years. And for that I say good on ya, mate.”

Enjolras looked up and saw those gentle brown eyes smiling down at him. He gave Combeferre a tired but grateful smile in return, then allowed his Guide to settle him back against the pillows and cover him gently with the duvet once more. Combeferre got up to return to the window seat but an insistent hand tugged at his jumper.

“Stay ‘Ferre, please?” came the small, sleepy voice.

“Of course, E. I’ll stay right here in the room with you.”

“No!” came the slightly panicked response. “I want you to sleep next to me and let me hold on to you for a bit, will you ‘Ferre? Please? I really need you. I’m still kinda scared that he’s going to come for me.”

“He’d never get past the front door, Enj. I swear it. You’re safe here now, nothing can harm you here.”

Combeferre spoke firmly but softly as he stretched out on the bed beside Enjolras and threw a protective arm over the blonde boy who still clutched at the hem of his jumper.

“Thanks ‘Ferre. I love you, you know?”

“I know, Enj. I love you too.”

A few minutes later the room fell silent. The only sound that issued forth was the quiet even breathing of two boys lost to the night in a deep and peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoltaire up next.. Stay strong E/R fans...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of one crisis but will it be the beginning of another?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a truly horrible person and clearly an unrepentant liar as well. I had promised at the end of the last chapter that this would be an E/R chapter. I really really REALLY meant it to be one, because I was like REALLY ready for one myself! But then that's not what came out of my pen. (Yes, I use an actual pen...) SO I am sincerely super sorry and I swear on my sainted grandmother's grave that Chapter 18 WILL be all (or at least mostly) Enjoltaire or I will submit myself to be publicly flogged...   
> Thank you.

 

Chapter 17

 

More than a week had passed now with no word from Enjolras. Grantaire wasn’t certain he could survive even another 24 hours without knowing what was going on with his young love. He’d heard nothing from anyone since the text from Courfeyrac telling him that Enjolras was with him and safe. So where was he know? What had happened since? Was he ok? Did he still feel the same?

Grantaire knew for sure **_he_** felt the same about Enjolras. R had been pretty unbearable to live with lately according to his flat mates Feuilly and Bahorel. He’d alternated between weeping morosely drunk and angrily raging drunk. One was really not much better than the other, at least for the people who had to put up with him in either of these states. ‘Moping-sobbing-vomiting’ Grantaire may have been slightly easier to manage than ‘yelling-fighting-smashing things’ Grantaire. Right at this moment though, he couldn’t imagine why his friends would choose to be around him under either circumstance. He felt like a worthless, good-for-nothing wreck of a human being and a miserable, pathetic failure as a boyfriend.

Courf had said in that last text to Grantaire that E thought his bastard father might be tracking his mobile phone and so had shut it off for the time. Grantaire could see no point in trying to text him then. He was desperate not to do _anything_ that might make Enjolras’ situation worse. But there had to be _something_ he could do to try and make it even a _little_ bit better. He thought about texting Courf, but since Grantaire didn’t really know any of Enjolras’ friends, it would feel strange reaching out to them for information.  He settled on sending a text to his friend Eponine. She worked part time at the Café Musain where Les Amis held their group meetings. He had been to one already, to help paint signs for a rally at his university. He thought perhaps Eponine might know when they were meeting again. If she didn’t know, Grantaire knew she had ways of finding things out through backchannels he was wise enough never to ask about.

_\- Hey Ep, you know that group of activist kids that meets in the back room at the Musain?_ **-R**

_\- ‘Taire, darling! Long time, no electrons! Why yes, I do. What about them, dove?_ **-Ep**

_\- Any idea when their next meeting is?_ **–R**

\- _‘Taire, are you stalking that pretty blonde boy again?_ **–Ep**

_\- Long story, Ep. We really need to get together for drinks and I can tell you all about it. If I don’t get to see him soon though, it may be a very short tale._ **–R**

_\- Awww, my poor lovesick ‘Taire. Actually I think they’re supposed to meet there tomorrow after school, usually around 3. Does that help?_ **-Ep**

_\- More than you know, ‘Ponine. Thanks. You’re the very best!_ **-R**

_\- You owe me drinks for this intel, mister. I don’t come cheap, you know!_ **-Ep**

_\-  ;-) <3   _ **-R**

 

Grantaire let go of a breath that felt as though he’d been holding in for days. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and was shocked at just how truly awful he looked. If he was to see his young Apollo tomorrow, he’d need to start getting cleaned up straightaway.

“‘Ferre, I look like absolute shit!” Enjolras yelled rather loudly from the small bathroom that joined the guest room he’d been staying in to his friend’s bedroom. Just out of the shower, he was stood before the mirror, examining his face, neck and upper body. Everything still hurt like hell but Enjolras had politely refused Mr. Combeferre’s offer to accompany him to the hospital for x-rays and treatment of his injuries. Though he knew his own father was in no position to make any waves right now, Enjolras wasn’t willing to take any chances.

“A little louder, ‘Jolras”, Combeferre shouted back, “I don’t think they heard you in Deptford.”

Enjolras laughed at this and immediately regretted it, gingerly wrapping an arm around his very painful ribs.

“Wonder what the boys will say when they see me like this at the meeting tomorrow?” he called out to Combeferre, more softly this time, as he finished dressing and running a brush haphazardly through his messy blonde curls.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes, E”, said ‘Ferre calmly. “You first need to decide how much you want anyone to know about this. Courfeyrac is pretty well up to date already.”

Courfeyrac, as the Center, had been filled in by the Guide while their leader had been asleep. Courf was properly horrified at what Combeferre had been able to tell him, not yet knowing the whole story himself. Enjolras still had not been very forthcoming with the full extent of the incident that had left him looking like a prizefighter who’d been defeated, and badly.

“I’m so embarrassed ‘Ferre. I don’t want them to know that I was too weak, that I **_let_** him do **_this_** to me”, Enjolras spoke softly, pointing at his battered face and blackened eyes.

“You didn’t let him do anything, Enj. And you aren’t weak. He’s just a lot bigger and heavier than you is all. He had an unfair advantage and he used it, the rotten son of a bitch”, ‘Ferre spoke these last words with such disgust in his voice. “Listen, all you really need to tell them is that you’re doing ok and that you’ll talk about it when you’re ready and not until then. Then carry on with the meeting as usual. You’re their leader, Enj. They will follow your lead.”

“You’re right ‘Ferre…as usual”, Enjolras smiled shyly at his friend.

Even with all the damage to his face, that smile was still radiant. Combeferre marveled for a moment at his leader’s strength and resilience. Enjolras spoke again, his voice barely audible this time.

“I miss him ‘Ferre. I really, really miss him. It feels like it’s been forever. I wonder if he even thinks about me anymore.”

“Only one way to find out for sure, ‘Jolras”, replied Combeferre. “Text him, call him, or just go and see him.”

“Oh NO!” Enjolras exclaimed, panic in his voice. “Not that!! I don’t want him to see me like…. Like…. Like THIS!! I look like Frankenstein’s bloody monster!!”

Never one to miss the opportunity to make a joke at the expense of his very serious friend, Combeferre raised an eyebrow and tilted his head first to one side, then the other.

“Well, where are those little electrodes coming out of your neck then, mate?”

Enjolras threw his heavy wet towel at the brown haired boy and hit him squarely in the face with it.

“You’re such a jackass sometimes, you do know that right…. **_Guy_**?” Enjolras said, the laughter and affection clear in his voice.

“Alright then, enough preening E. We better get moving or we’ll be late to class for sure.”

“Right”, Enjolras replied, “Just a few more minutes, I swear, then I’ll be ready to go.”

 

In a strange coincidence, it happened that the Les Amis meeting that afternoon was to focus on Domestic Abuse and Violence Against Women & Children, in preparation for an upcoming event called the ‘Clothesline Project.’ Enjolras had been working hard on a speech before…well, before everything had gone to hell in his own life. He knew he would need to try extra hard to stay strong, to keep the focus on the issue and not on him, even looking as he did at the moment.  

Everyone was there and while lots of sidelong glances and curious, questioning looks were exchanged, no one said anything out loud. Enjolras offered no explanation at all and just carried on with the meeting as though nothing were amiss.

“I am their leader and right now my job is to lead them” he reminded himself every time he felt like he might be sinking into fear or shame, losing his still shaky self-control.

He knew that they would look to him and so he needed to be the man in charge here, not the frightened boy who had cried so helplessly in his best friend’s arms just days ago. He was doing great so far keeping everyone focused and on track, talking about the issue and about their part in the event. He was doing good, doing fine actually… at least he _was_ , until he caught sight of some movement off to his right.

The door to their room cracked open slightly, then a head of messy ink-black curls appeared around the corner. Enjolras froze, still as a statue. Combeferre saw the terrified look in his eyes and crossed the room in three strides to stand beside his stricken friend. There was a sudden gasp of horror from the artist, his hand quickly flying to his mouth before another could escape. He too seemed riveted to a spot half in and half out of the room, unable to move either way and too afraid to speak. Combeferre shot a meaningful look across the room at Courfeyrac who got the silent message and moved to meet Grantaire where he stood.

“C’mon, R. Step outside with me for a moment, will you?” said Courf as calmly as he could manage, stuffing his own panic down for the time being.

Grantaire offered no resistance as Courf led him gently from the room, out the back door of the café and into the side alley.

Combeferre meanwhile addressed the stunned, silent room. “Alright then lads, we’re shutting it down early today but we’ll meet here again tomorrow, same time, yeah?”

It took a few moments before his words registered with the boys, but then they slowly began gathering their things and filing quietly out the front door, led by Jehan who could always be counted on to take the lead in a tense situation. Enjolras hadn’t moved, not at all, not even to flinch in reaction to Combeferre’s voice so close beside him.  He looked blankly at his Guide, his deep blue eyes beginning to take on that ‘thousand yard stare’ again. Combeferre felt himself start to panic.

“Enj. Enjy. Hey, Enjolras!” Still nothing. ‘Ferre took one more desperate go at him. “TRYSTAN!”

Blue eyes opened wide, suddenly focused on him, fearful but definitely present.

“’Ferre? Is it him? Is he really here? What do I do now, ‘Ferre? What should I do?”

“Now you tackle this thing head on, deal with what’s right in front of you, ‘Jolras. Time to own up to everything that’s been going on in your life, talk to him about it, be honest, make it real- for both your sakes- even if it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. If you really do care for him then some sort of explanation is absolutely necessary here. Can you just imagine how difficult these past several days must have been for him too? Not knowing anything?”

“You’re right ‘Ferre. I know you’re right. I hadn’t even thought much about that part of it at all. I just knew I missed him and how sad that made me feel”, Enjolras spoke so softly Combeferre had to lean in to hear his words.

“Well, he’s here right now, mate. He obviously came here for you Enj, so go talk to him. I’ll be right here if you need me, ok?”

“Thanks ‘Ferre, for everything. You really are the best friend a bloke could ever ask for”, Enjolras touched his friend gently on the arm as he spoke.

Combeferre smiled and gave the blonde boy a gentle, reassuring squeeze then watched him walk outside into the sunshine and into the waiting arms of his love.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/R, coming up.... no kidding....


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Enjoltaire for a change!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still reading this, please please please forgive the unforgivable delay in posting this chapter. I will get to work ASAP on the next one....

By the time Enjolras walked out of the café and into his embrace, Grantaire had the worst of his shock and blind rage under control. With a little help from Courf (who just seemed to have a knack for these things) he had regained his composure and so he stood silently, arms open, waiting to hold the angelic boy with the beautiful, battered face. For several long minutes no words passed between them. Grantaire studied his young love’s face, brushing a thumb tenderly along the edges of each bruise, all of them beginning to fade at last from bluish purple to a lighter green. Grantaire pressed gentle kisses to each bruise, each cut or angry mark he could find on Enjolras’ face and neck, not caring that they were outside where they might be seen. Courf stood silently (and invisibly) by should the need for his calming presence arise. He also stood there as a sort of bodyguard, feeling suddenly very protective and perhaps even a bit paternal over these two young lovers who had already been through so much.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. This is all my fault” Grantaire whispered into Enjolras’ curls, his voice trembling as he spoke.  

“NO! Please Grantaire, please don’t ever say that!” the blonde boy pleaded. “None of this is your fault. My father is a brute and just a truly horrible person. But he always has been. He would have never accepted me for myself, not ever.  He would have never respected my vision for my own future. And he NEVER, EVER would have tolerated a poofter for a son! I have always believed a day like that would come and when it did, that he would behave just as he did. Well it did, and he did, but still here I stand!”

By now the familiar fire and ferocity was back in Enjolras’ voice and he sounded to Grantaire much the way he had that day on the platform at the Diversity Day rally and not at all like the innocent victim of a knuckle-dragging homophobe with a violent streak.

“But where have you been, Enj? I’ve been so scared and worried about you! How have you been getting by? You’re practically homeless for Christ sakes! I feel like that IS my fault somehow!”

There was a barely contained panic in the artist’s voice, something just beneath the surface of his already shaky exterior that seemed ready to unravel with only the slightest provocation. He wasn’t the most stable person in the world after all, but that was something about Grantaire that Enjolras had yet to fully experience.

Enjolras suddenly straightened up to his full six foot height, taller than Grantaire by an inch or two. He lifted Grantaire’s chin with his finger, compelling the artist to look up and into those amazing ice blue eyes. The serious but serene expression on his face made him seem much older than his seventeen years.

“Listen to me ‘Taire. I am OK. Really. I am doing much better. Courf and ‘Ferre have both been right there for me, patching me up and keeping me safe, understand? I’m staying with Combeferre for now until I come up with a longer term solution. ‘Ferre and Courf have been helping me sort a plan for our next move, should we have need of one.”

Enjolras spoke calmly and matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes locked on the artist’s, and Grantaire felt his own rising panic begin to subside.

“Next move?” Grantaire asked. “What does that mean? Why would you need to have a ‘next move’?”

“You don’t know my father, ‘Taire. Hugo Enjolras does NOT like to lose. And he has friends everywhere, or at least a lot of people that he PAYS to be his friends. He’s worked very hard getting where he is now but not without creating many enemies along the way. So he is a man constantly prepared for a battle. He knows that I have information about his business dealings and other things that could be quite harmful to him. But he probably doubts that I’ll have the balls to use it, being that I’m a pansy and all.”

Here Enjolras laughed bitterly but Grantaire could feel the pain in his voice all the same.  He continued calmly.

“I doubt he’ll try to make any trouble for me straight away. But knowing him, he won’t be happy if he feels he’s lost control so he may try something when he thinks I’ve stopped taking notice or let my guard down.”

“Something? Like what?” Grantaire asked, confused but also kind of intrigued at the same time.

“That I don’t know, R. He’s a right sneaky bastard. I’d put nothing past him considering how pissed off he was, still is I’m sure.”

“Can you reason with your mum at all?” asked Grantaire with the slightest tone of hope in his voice.

“I don’t know really” Enjolras answered thoughtfully. “I know she loves me and all but Dad has her- along with everyone else- under his miserable rotten oppressive thumb. I don’t know if she’d stand against him or not. He’s beaten her too, a few times, mostly when I was still just a kid.”

He paused there, looking down, not wanting Grantaire to see the shame and hurt in his eyes. The memory was obviously still a source of great pain for the boy.

“I tried to help her, R, really I did! But I just wasn’t strong enough or brave enough I guess.”

Suddenly Enjolras felt very small again and curled himself back into Grantaire’s protective embrace.

“Can I take you somewhere Enj?” Grantaire asked with tender concern in his voice. “Maybe for a coffee? Or a walk by the river?”

Grantaire wanted so desperately just to be alone and someplace safe with the blonde boy. It seemed that Enjolras had the same need.

“Can we go to your studio, R? Please? I think we’d be safe enough there now.”

“As you wish, my young Apollo. As you wish.”

Grantaire flashed him a smile then gave a quick bow and flourish before taking Enjolras by the hand and walking back into the café with him to collect his things. 

And seeing that his ‘services’ wouldn't likely be required any more that day, Courfeyrac slipped away quietly and headed for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All constructive criticism, plot suggestions, and other bits of guidance and wisdom appreciated greatly... Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to leave kudos or comments. They mean more to me than you can possibly imagine...


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Enjolras' nightmare battle with his father, he and Grantaire have a chance to talk about everything and finally enjoy some time alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuses.. I just suck and I am a truly horrible person. Sorry...

Chapter 19

The two boys had been wrapped together on the old sofa in Grantaire’s studio all evening, both of them feeling calmer and more content than they had in recent memory. The fire burned low in the old woodstove, offering just enough light and warmth to the room to keep it cozy. Grantaire shifted a bit, still holding tightly to Enjolras but moving so that he could look directly into those amazing blue eyes.

“I thought for certain you would hate me. You’d have every right to, you know. But I’m afraid I really didn’t handle the whole situation very maturely. You’re younger than me and you’ve been a rock!”

He looked down, a sudden wave of shame making him want to avert his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked quietly. “And why on earth would I hate you?”

“I didn’t know where you were or what was happening to you”, Grantaire began with a quiver in his voice. “I felt responsible for everything that happened and yet I ran off like a coward and left you there to face him alone. How can that not make me a horrible person in your eyes?”

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he spoke. He struggled mightily to keep some composure as he laid bare his soul to the beautiful young man resting in his arms.

“I drank, Enj. I drank a lot. I just drank and cried and puked and smashed stuff and my poor roommates had to deal with me like that the whole time I didn’t know where you were, or if you were ok. I was such a complete pussy, a total chicken shit. A weak, drunken chicken shit coward. And I’m sorry, Enj. I’m really, truly sorry. You deserve so much better than that, someone so much better than me.”

By this time Grantaire was sobbing brokenly, eyes downcast, head hung in utter humiliation, unable to face the boy he still clung so tightly to. He felt the shame burning inside him, sharp as a knife. He even felt for a moment as though he no longer deserved the air he was breathing or the space he occupied. How could he be anything but an object of pity and disgust to this brave and fearless young leader? Enjolras spoke up, softly, his slender arms still wrapped tightly around the sobbing, broken dark haired man.

“You know there’s no playbook written for how we’re supposed to deal with these kinds of situations, R. Yeah? Especially when they involve someone as unpredictable as my bastard father. I mean, I may look like a rock to you but believe me, I’ve been anything but! Just ask Courf or ‘Ferre! I was afraid, very very afraid at times. I felt weak, defeated, even like I deserved what was happening to me just because I am who I am. But I know that’s not true. No one deserves to be beaten like that. Ever. For ANY reason!”

Enjolras paused here for a moment to calm his breathing and collect himself a bit. Even so, the bitterness and anger rang in his voice which grew in volume and passion.

“It’s my father who’s the TRUE weakling here, R! HE is the one who hides all that ugliness, all that hatred and cowardice behind violence and intimidation! I would love to see him trying to explain to his cronies that it was his own candy-ass faggot son that beat the shit out of him!!”

Enjolras was shaking his fist angrily and gave out with a bit of a derisive snort. He tossed his head like a proud lion, sending golden curls winging in every direction.

Grantaire dared to face him again and saw the angry blaze in his eyes. He felt equal parts pride and fear, believing that Enjolras would come through this awful situation with his head held high and just that much stronger for the experience. Grantaire also felt afraid that, even though the younger boy was already the strongest person he'd ever known, a violent and manipulative egotistical son of a bitch like Hugo Enjolras wasn't about to let an insult like that just lay.

They stayed together there that night, both boys needing the comfort and security of the other's presence. Grantaire laid on his back, stretched out on the old sofa, while Enjolras draped himself over Grantaire, head pillowed on the artist's chest listening to the regular beating of his heart until he finally drifted off to sleep. Grantaire laid awake awhile, quiet in the darkness, carding his fingers gently through the sleeping boy's soft blonde curls. He reached gently for the blanket on the back of the sofa and covered them both as best he could without disturbing his sleeping angel. Not too much longer after that, Grantaire too slipped into peaceful sleep, amazed that- all things considered- they were still here together and still in love. In Grantaire's experience of life and the world, it really couldn't possibly get much better than that. He would have to try really hard not to worry so much about the reverse side of that philosophical coin.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras start their journey together, utterly clueless as to just how 'un-alone' they really are on the path....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humble apologies. It's been a life....

 

As much as it would have been paradise to hide from the world in Grantaire's studio alone together, never again compelled to confront all the ugliness in the outside world, both Enjolras and Grantaire had a stronger grip on reality. So as much as it pained them both to leave their safe harbor, they ventured out together that bright, clear morning, still holding hands, not really sure what their next move might be.

"I'll walk you to school if you'd like", offered Grantaire.

He still felt as though the boy beside him needed protection, his protection, and he was still concerned about what might happen if Enjolras was out of his sight for too long.

"No, R, it's ok", Enjolras responded confidently. "I texted Courf and asked him to meet me at the corner just up from here. You can wait with me if you want though. I'd really like your company", he added shyly, looking down at their still joined hands.

Grantaire gave Enjolras' hand a gentle squeeze and offered him a small smile. They walked slowly toward the corner about two blocks away, quiet, just happy to be together, sharing a few more precious minutes till they were each forced to go their own ways, at least for now.

Courf pulled up about 10 minutes later, waving at Grantaire in greeting as Enjolras climbed in to the passenger seat.  He closed the door, rolling down the window for one last quick goodbye kiss, not wanting to create an emotional spectacle in front of the driver.

"Take good care of him for me, please?" Grantaire said to Courf, offering him a weary smile before they pulled away from the corner. Courf smiled back at him reassuringly.

Grantaire hoped mightily that the quaver in his voice wasn't as obvious to the two boys in the car as it was to him. He would have done almost anything to avoid future displays of any type of weakness in front of Enjolras, or any of his friends for that matter. If he was to be worthy of his brave angel, Grantaire felt as though he needed to 'man up', and fast. After all, what would a strong, fearless leader like Enjolras need with a drunken coward like him?

Grantaire turned away from the corner and began the short walk back to his studio, sparing only a brief glance at the dark colored sedan parked across the street, its driver side window opened slightly. He took no notice of the telescopic camera lens that had been trained on he and Enjolras for the last several minutes, the shutter clicking away madly as the unseen driver photographed both boys and the car that had just pulled away from the curb with Enjolras inside. 

Grantaire's mind was focused on only one thing in that moment- how to be the man his young lover needed and deserved him to be. Staying sober would be a good beginning, he thought, and so he resolved to stay away from the booze, at least for the foreseeable future.

But what to do about that rat bastard father of Enjolras’? Maybe he should confront him himself, warn him to stay away from the boy or risk having a midnight visit from Grantaire's MMA buddies including his roommate, Bahorel, who never really needed much of an excuse to join in on a good beat-down.

Tempting as that thought really was, the sight of the bully Hugo Enjolras crumpled in a heap on the floor and begging for mercy, Grantaire knew that Enjolras would never advocate or approve physical violence as an answer to any problem, even the problem of his bastard father. Grantaire had heard him speak often and with his usual fiery passion about the need for non-violent protests, for peaceful civil disobedience as a means of change, to confront those social injustices they cared about so deeply without being baited into violent or unethical behavior by those on the other side. So there would be no beat-down. He would just have to find another way to keep Enjolras safe from his father's clutches.

The man behind the telescopic camera lens was one of Hugo's henchman, naturally. He had been instructed to find the boy, watch him closely, document his movements and who he was associating with, and then report his findings back to the boss. The cryptic note that his son had left behind ('Father, leave me in peace to live my life on my terms and as I see fit and I will do the same for you. Disrespect this simple request and rest assured I can and will make the rest of your wretched existence even more miserable’) along with the secret key to the filing cabinet and the missing files had made Hugo Enjolras suddenly very nervous. He knew that, while his son may be a candy-ass faggot, he was far from stupid and knew enough about the family's business dealings to create at a minimum a good deal of embarrassment for the elder Enjolras. If Hugo could find a way to contain this now very loose cannon, create some chaos in the boy's life, he may be able to keep unwanted and unwelcomed attention off himself and his affairs.

For that task, Hugo had chosen Saladin Javert, the top man in his company's security firm, a man with a great passion for finding wrongs and seeing to it that they're put right. Not unlike his employer, Javert had a nasty mean streak. He also had no qualms about using violence in his own relentless pursuit of order and justice. He sported an ugly scar from his chin to just under his left ear as evidence of that fact. 

A task such as this pleased Javert on many levels. He enjoyed the power of being the watcher rather than the watched. He was eager to see this impudent and overbold youngster brought down a peg or two and taught to have the proper respect for his elders.  But he was especially intent on finding this boy and teaching him a lesson or two of his own, correcting behavior that Javert believed to be a threat to social order and a clear moral offense. There was absolutely no place in Javert’s well-ordered and righteous world for Enjolras or his like.

Little did Grantaire realize just how daunting the task of protecting his brave young angel would really be.

 


End file.
